Suddenly I See
by Imposters
Summary: Darcy knows from his Second Sight that Elizabeth will one day be his wife. Of course, Elizabeth has no way of knowing his assurance is anything more than prideful conceit. Darcy's certainty will bring much uncertainty before it brings happiness to either.
1. Chapter 1

Darcy was running a bit late, something he almost never did. It irritated him in a way few things could, and though it was himself at whom the irritation was directed, he was at least aware of the quickly averted glances he received as he strode hurriedly down the sidewalk from the train station to his office building. He thought for perhaps the eighth time that he must look rather thunderous and again made the effort to smooth out his face into a neutral expression, but then he would remember choosing to stay up rather later than was usual the night before, unable to convince himself to save the rest of a rather gripping book for the next day, and consequently missing his alarm altogether.

A look at his pocket watch revealed that he was now ten minutes late – he who prized punctuality – and was only now about to reach the doors of his building. They stood closed as he approached them, as was normal. Rather out of the ordinary was that he made no move to pull the key for the lock from his pocket. Instead, he reached for the handle and pulled the door easily open, his frown deepening slightly as he did so.

That damnable book! Late, and at the beginning of the week!

Darcy caught his frown again and again tried to erase it. He managed rather well, or so he thought, until he had reached his floor and saw the main reception desk sitting empty. The question for why it should be empty had an immediate answer: today was the day his new secretary was meant to start work. Mrs. Reynolds would be showing them the ropes.

The scowl was back in full force. This was not at all the sort of impression Darcy wished to convey to his new staff. He had always been conscious of leading by example and waltzing carelessly into work nearly 15 minutes late was far from being the sort of example he would wish to set.

But there was nothing to do be done for it so he squared his already straight shoulders and strode purposefully into the antechamber to his office. Mrs. Reynolds was there, as expected, standing behind the new secretary who was seated behind her desk, her eyes fixed on the calendar that was open before her on the desk's glossy surface.

For the briefest of moments, Darcy faltered. She was glossy too, this new secretary. Her skin was like pale ivory, so translucent that he thought he could almost see the blood just below the surface of it. It put him in mind of white rose petals, tinged with pink, like the ones his mother had grown. Her hair made a nice contrast with her skin, a brown so rich and dark he could think of nothing to compare it to. She had it cut in a sleek bob, all symmetrical and stylish.

When she glanced up at the sound of his entrance, he was caught by her eyes. They were dark, like her hair, and seemed to hint at laughing secrets.

In that moment, Darcy could _See_. It happened occasionally and he had long since stopped being troubled by it, though he never shared the gift or curse or whatever it was with anyone else. It was his secret, that sometimes he had only to look at a person or a thing and be able to say unerringly how it would affect his future. He had known early on that Wickham would come to a bad end, squandering money and attempting to seduce Darcy's younger sister for her fortune. It had not been chance that had brought Darcy onto the scene just as Georgiana had nearly agreed to elope with the villain. He had _Seen_ and he had acted.

In the same way, he had known when the proposal for a business venture that had seemed not only risky but also more than a little insane had crossed his desk that it would be the largest success the modern world had seen in years. Against the advice of many a successful businessman, Darcy had invested in the motorized vehicle industry. They had told him he would lose the investment, but it had paid off many times over what he had put into it.

And now, when Darcy looked at his new secretary, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would be his wife. He could see flashes of a future life with her, loving her, her loving him for something other than this money, their raising a family together, beautiful children, a lovely house, the fairytale life so many people dreamed of but never got. There would be sad times, of course, and challenges. But that was a natural and inescapable part of life and they would, he knew, face those things together.

Now his face eased into a neutral mask, his ingrained reaction to having Seen something. The world started moving at a normal pace again and Darcy stopped in front of his future wife's desk.

His mind was already swiftly analyzing the ramifications of marrying one's secretary. Women were new to the workforce and in any case Darcy knew of where a wealthy and powerful man had married his secretary, there was the usual cloud of gossip surrounding the event. She was a gold-digger or he had got her pregnant. Perhaps both. The speculation was never kind to either party. It would be up to Darcy to make sure she was shielded from it all.

"Hello," he greeted the women, even as he made decisions he was certain would ensure his future happiness. "Terribly sorry to be late on your first day. I am Mr. Darcy."

He held out a hand to shake, quietly and deeply thrilled when she slid her hand easily into his, giving him a nervous smile that strove for confidence. "Hello, Sir," she replied, her voice pleasantly low-pitched and seeming to be edged with something smoky. "I am pleased to meet you."

Mrs. Reynolds had interviewed and hired her. She had told him her name but he had been inattentive at the time and was chagrined to find now that he couldn't recall it.

"Have you a name?" The question came out somewhat abruptly, he realized, after seeing her face flush red. He would have to apologize for that later and explain that he was embarrassed to have forgotten her name. He would have to explain that there were many things about this day that were out of the ordinary. It would come in time.

"Y-yes," she stammered prettily and then seemed all at once to compose herself. Meeting his eyes without a trace of shyness she said, "My name is Elizabeth Bennet."

"Elizabeth Bennet," he repeated, just to savor the syllables. "A pleasure."

Behind Elizabeth, Mrs. Reynolds was staring at him in a puzzled fashion. It was only then Darcy realized he was still holding Elizabeth's hand. He dropped it as though it were a live coal and then attempted to regain some of his usual professional aplomb.

"When you have a moment, Mrs. Reynolds, would you please see me in my office?"

"Yes, Sir," the receptionist murmured in assent. "I shall be in directly."

Feeling that the day had rather started to look up, Darcy took his leave to his office where he merely sat behind his desk for several long minutes, smiling over nothing less than that his future happiness was secured.

"Jane," Elizabeth called, entering the smallish flat she shared with her elder sister much earlier in the day than she had originally planned, "are you here?"

She paused by the front door after she had closed it, leaning against it long enough to balance herself as she removed the heels she had purchased with her first day in her job in mind.

"Elizabeth?" Jane's voice preceded her fair sister down the short hallway. She was in the front room in an instant, an expression of concern drawing her brows together. "What happened, Dearest? Why are you home so soon?"

Elizabeth looked up, her dark eyes shining with what looked like repressed tears. Nevertheless, she tilted her chin up aggressively and her voice trembled rather more with rage as she replied. "What happened? Mr. Demands-Perfection Darcy happened."

Jane's eyes widened and her expression became even more concerned. "Perhaps you had better sit down and tell me what happened."

"I shall tell you what happened!" Elizabeth cried. She started pacing, a clear sign that she was upset even if the unshed tears had not been. "I arrived early, so excited for the opportunity to work for someone as visionary as Mr. Darcy is said to be." She ground out his name like a curse.

"Everything started out so well. Mrs. Reynolds showed up a bit before eight and seemed surprised that I was loitering outside. 'Mr. Darcy is usually early as well,' she told me. 'I think you will deal well with him,' she said. Ha!"

There was a brief silence that Jane didn't even attempt to break. She knew her sister and it was clear that Elizabeth had a great deal to say but was only looking for the right words. In just a moment, Elizabeth was shaking back her bob.

"So we went up and Mrs. Reynolds started to show me around. My office was lovely. The whole place was, really." She sounded briefly meditative. "Mrs. Reynolds was just starting to go over Mr. Darcy's calendar with me when he walked in."

Elizabeth had stopped pacing now, her head tilted back as she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "My first thought when I saw him was to wonder how I could possibly work with him. He was so – oh, Jane, the pictures don't do him any justice. He was so severe when he walked in, all tall and impeccably dressed but with his hair disheveled. And I thought at first that he looked so discerning, like a true visionary, and I was going to be his secretary. One of the few men you read about who seems fair and honest in his business dealings and who is progressive enough to hire several women. I thought I must be dreaming."

Jane waited as Elizabeth seemed to be marshaling her thoughts again. At last, even she could no longer take the suspense. "But then what happened?"

Elizabeth shook her head slightly and then met her sister's gaze with a sardonic glance. "Well, he came over and introduced himself and I was a little flustered when he shook my hand so when he said, 'Terribly sorry to be late on your first day. I'm Mr. Darcy,' I gawked at him a bit and said I was very pleased to meet him."

Jane blinked, wondering why her sister seemed to be waiting for her to comment on that. "I daresay that seems like a non-issue?"

"You would think so!" Elizabeth cried triumphantly. "But he got this queer look in his eye and got all stiff. And then he said, 'Have you a name?'"

"No," Jane gasped, for Elizabeth had mimicked the haughty tone Mr. Darcy had used and even Jane, who was the sweetest of creatures, couldn't help but think it rather rude.

"Yes," Elizabeth countered grimly. "So I blushed and I stammered a bit and then I looked him straight in the eye and told him my name. And just like that," she snapped her fingers for emphasis, "he was done with me. He told Mrs. Reynolds he wanted to speak to her once she a moment, dropped my hand and went into his office."

"That's unfortunate, true," Jane hazarded, "but I still don't see why you're home."

The sheen of tears was back in Elizabeth's eyes. "After a few more minutes showing me the calendar and explaining the particular ways Mr. Darcy likes things, Mrs. Reynolds went into his office and pulled the door mostly shut. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but their conversation carried out to me all the same. And do you know the first thing he said to her, Jane?"

Jane shook her head. "What?"

And at last Elizabeth's face crumpled and the tears that had been threatening spilled over. "He said, 'She can't work for me, Mrs. Reynolds. Please find some other place for her anywhere in my company and then interview again for a secretary for me. And get me a man this time.'"

Speechless with shock, Jane simply held out her arms and caught Elizabeth as she at last allowed herself to cry the tears that had been threatening ever since she had heard his edict. She rubbed her sister's back comfortingly as Elizabeth sobbed into her shoulder, muttering incoherently. "There, there, Dearest," she said helplessly, not knowing what else to say. "It will all be fine. You'll see."

After several minutes, Elizabeth's tears quieted and a watery voice said, "Jane?"

"Yes, Dearest?"

"I hate him, Jane. And I shall never, ever forgive him."

Quite certain her sister meant it, Jane could only murmur in quiet response, "Yes, I know."

Elizabeth was decidedly less weepy by the next day and over a shared breakfast of fried eggs and buttered toast Jane at last hazarded the question that had been on her mind since the previous day.

"Lizzie," she asked, in as unstudied a voice as possible, "what are your plans now, Dearest?"

Her sister would not meet her eyes as she responded in an attempt at an unstudied tone of her own. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Jane elaborated willingly, "what will you do for a job now? I suspect you won't work for Mr. Darcy despite his… offer."

"Offer!" Elizabeth snorted in derision, a thoroughly unladylike sound. "No, Jane, I will not be taking Mr. Darcy's charity, if you can call it that. I will speak to our aunt, maybe, and attempt to find something as soon as may be. I do not expect you to support me, though, never fear!"

"You know I am well able to care for us both," Jane put in mildly. "I just want you to be happy."

Elizabeth sighed heavily. "I know. And I am grateful, truly! I had just hoped to contribute more than I have been and then I went and got myself practically fired on my first day. It took so long to even get that job!"

Jane maintained a silence, knowing all too well what would come next.

"Perhaps I am being too prideful," Elizabeth mused a moment later, true to form. She cast a soulful look at her older sister. "Should I, do you think, go and speak to Mrs. Reynolds about another job? I'm sure she would understand."

"Of course not," Jane chided. "Did I not just say I want you to be happy?"

"I am glad, Jane," Elizabeth replied, her tone serious but with a sly smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. "After all, I did steal something yesterday. From Mrs. Reynolds."

Jane's eyes and mouth went large and round in shock. "Lizzy!"

"Well, I did," Elizabeth laughed. "And I don't regret it!"

"What have you done?"

"_Well_," Elizabeth drew the word out, satisfied with the shocked way Jane was looking at her and the small edge of glee she felt every time she thought about how easy it had been to thwart Darcy in that one, small matter. "The last thing I heard Mr. High-and-Mighty say to Mrs. Reynolds was that he wanted her file on me. I knew it was on her desk since she'd had me sign a form and put the copy in there. So I nicked it."

The look of horror on Jane's face softened somewhat. But she still attempted to sound stern as she replied. "You had better not try to speak to her about a job then. For shame, Lizzie!"

"What?" Elizabeth protested half-heartedly. "It's my personal information."

Jane just shook her head.

After a moment, Elizabeth dismissed the situation with a languid wave of her hand. "I will just keep searching," she declared, standing and taking Jane's plate along with hers to the sink. "It's not as though there's really any gap between my last applications and today. I may even get an interview within the next few days." Her voice was too bright, but she kept on determinedly. "And in the meantime, I shall spare you all the housework and put myself at your disposal for all items of research that you wish to give me to undertake."

Jane laughed easily, obviously deciding to drop the issue of her sister's theft, before standing and moving to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek. "I only want you to be happy," she repeated. "And to look up everything you can on the Cult of Thold."

"A cult?" Elizabeth echoed, laughing merrily. "Is this for your first years' benefit?"

Jane blushed, easily as ever, and swatted half-heartedly at her sister, happier than anything to see her laughing. "Hush you," she said. Then, checking the clock, "I really must get going."

"Go," Elizabeth urged her, still amused. "Go educate the young and impressionable minds of this nation and I shall stay here and scrape the burnt eggs out of the pan before looking up your obscure cultish references."

Jane rushed to gather her things and then stopped briefly to lay a cool hand against Elizabeth's cheek. "I love you," she said.

"I love you, too," Elizabeth replied lightly. "But who could not?"

There was a sweet smile of gratitude for that, the kindest mind in the country unable to be swayed by simple flattery, and then Jane was gone to teach her first years things that had nothing to do with cults and everything to do with numbers and letters.

Alone in the flat, Elizabeth sighed softly and set herself to attacking the place with vigor. Despite what she had said to Jane she was not ready to start looking for another job. It was quite possible that she might hear from one of the other places she had recently applied to, and she would give that perhaps another few days before putting her shoulder to the wheel once again.

How unfair to have landed one's dream job only to discover that one's equally dreamy boss was nothing more than a heartless jerk of a man and could not even give someone a decent chance before turning them back out into the world to shift for themselves. She had not even got any recompense for the time she had given, though it was scarcely half an hour.

She had pinned everything on that job, had been more excited and more certain about it than she had been for any of the other advertisements to which she had responded. And for what? To discover that the men who seemed good in the papers probably weren't all that good. Or even if their morals were sound, they still cared nothing for persons below their stations. Did Mr. Darcy think that opportunities like the one his company had so briefly offered to her were the sort that came along every day?

Shaking her head as though to clear it, Elizabeth finished cleaning, checked to make sure she was presentable and then left the flat to head to the library. As she went through the rest of her day she prided herself many times over on not giving the man another thought.

Darcy looked up as Mrs. Reynolds bustled into his office, looking poised to efficiently deal with any request he might be about to make. Only now did he spare a moment to wonder how Mrs. Reynolds would interpret his request. She would be confused at first, he was certain. But when Elizabeth became his wife, she would know and understand.

"Yes, Sir?" Mrs. Reynolds asked.

"Elizabeth can't work for me, Mrs. Reynolds." Darcy spoke with his customary straight-forwardness. "Please find her some other place for her in my company – anything she is interested in and qualified to do - and then interview again for a secretary for me." He attempted a look of apology at this juncture, knowing how much he was asking. "Oh, and please hire a man this time."

Mrs. Reynolds looked momentarily taken aback. Darcy wished he could explain – that he would marry Elizabeth and wished only to shield her from unkind gossip. But there was no way to make such a declaration without also getting into the strange matter of his second Sight.

Ever a professional, though, Mrs. Reynolds merely nodded slowly. "You wish this to happen immediately, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Very good, Sir. Will there be anything else?"

"No," he answered somewhat absently, his thoughts distracted with a vision of Elizabeth, resplendent in a white gown. Abruptly, he banished the thought long enough to add, "Err, actually, do you have a file or something on her?"

"I do."

"I would like to see it. Whenever you have the time." He was trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"Very good, Sir," Mrs. Reynolds repeated. She backed out of his office, closing the door behind her.

Darcy was out of his chair with alacrity, trying to move swiftly but silently to listen at the door. Mrs. Reynolds had a particular talent for easing things over but he wanted to be sure that it was handled well. It wouldn't do for Elizabeth to get the wrong idea.

Mrs. Reynolds seemed not to have wasted any time or words, for by the time Darcy reached the door he heard Elizabeth saying, "No, I understand perfectly well, Mrs. Reynolds." Her voice sounded controlled, accepting. "And you don't need to go to any trouble finding me something else to do. I think it will be better if I don't work for Mr. Darcy at all."

Darcy smiled foolishly, relieved it had gone over so well. She was a clever girl. She must be if he could be happy making a life with her. Perhaps she understood as well as he did why she could not work for him. She must have seen something in his eyes or felt that same jolt of recognition he had when they had grasped hands.

In any case, there would be no impediments to his pursuing her. And as soon as Mrs. Reynolds brought him the information she had, he would know where to find her.

Darcy returned to his desk and attempted to get his mind back onto matters of business. For the first time in his life, he wished that he could be less responsible or more given to acting on his impulses. Today would be a lovely day to blow off meeting with a boring old stick like Mr. Dyson. And as pleasant as lunch with his particular friend, Bingley, was sure to be, would it not be far pleasanter to chase Ms. Bennet down and go with her to walk in the park? They could get to know each other and he could buy her lunch from one of the vendors that always did their business there.

Shaking his mind from his fancies, Darcy bent to his work. Soon he was absorbed in it as he usually was, although there were one or two points at which he found his thoughts had been consumed by Elizabeth.

It was Bingley who managed to snap him out of his uncharacteristically daydreaming state by virtue of being firmly in the thrall of one of his own, which were decidedly more characteristic.

"Who is she this time?" Darcy asked, amused. It was almost never the same woman twice. Bingley was always mooning over a pretty new face.

"Her name is Jane," Bingley replied, no less dreamy. "She's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She wants to be a writer."

Darcy's amusement faded, almost immediately. Bingley owned a publishing company, a fact that was known well enough around town. "How did you meet her?"

"We fought over a cab," was Bingley's surprising answer.

"You? Fighting?" Darcy raised a brow, emphasizing how unlikely he thought such an event to be.

"Over who should take it," Bingley elaborated. "We were both running late and then it turned out that we were heading in the same direction so we decided to share it. She was so easy to talk to – it felt like catching up with an old friend."

Darcy waited a moment but it was soon clear that nothing more was forthcoming. He wondered how genuine this Jane person was. The meeting seemed chance enough, but that it should come up that she wanted to be a writer seemed a little fishy. Yet, Bingley was nothing if not fickle. Darcy would just keep more of an eye than usual on his friend's romantic affairs and make sure it all blew past without Bingley being used by a mercenary woman. It had happened before, usually because someone was after Bingley's money and he was too prone to a pretty face to tell when he was being conned.

After lunch had ended, Darcy made his way back to his office, thinking of Elizabeth Bennet the whole way. Only then did it occur to him that Mrs. Reynolds had never brought the file on Elizabeth to him. Shrugging it off, he stopped by her desk to ask for it only to discover that she seemed to have misplaced it.

"Let me know when you find it," Darcy said, trying to sound nonchalant about it. But on the inside he couldn't help but wonder that it had gone missing – and whether or not it would be difficult to find her again.


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeth stretched briefly, fighting the overwhelming urge she had to simply find a clear spot on the ground and lie down. Her eyes felt gritty and her head throbbed with the sound of the machines that clattered on and on.

This was _not_ the job she had understood herself to be accepting when it had been offered.

She had known that she would be working a night shift and had resigned herself to having to readjust her internal clock to reflect a schedule that had her working from four in the afternoon until shortly after midnight. She had also known that there was a possibility – _a possibility, mind_ – that she would have to help out "sweeping" if she ran out of data entry work.

But she hadn't realized how little data entry there would be to do. Or how demanding this sweeping business was.

After another week or so of pouting at Mr. Darcy's abrupt dismissal of her services, Elizabeth had been contacted by Blue Line regarding a position as an Encoder. Feeling vaguely guilty for living off her sister's goodwill, she had accepted the interview, learned a bit more about the position and upon it being offered to her, accepted it.

Blue Line specialized in pre-sorting mail. They had several major clients who printed their own mailings and delivered those bulk mailings – hundreds of thousands of letters all at once – to Blue Line. Using the most modern aldectric machinery, Blue Line sorted through thousands and thousands of them every hour.

There were five of the marvelous machines on the floor, each one roughly fifty feet in length. At the front of each machine was a conveyor belt. Mail was loaded by the tray full onto this belt by the machine's operator. From there, it fed into the machine, past some sensors Elizabeth did not understand, and was then shot at high speeds down the length of the machine to land with a clatter in a numbered bin.

There were two layers of these bins, one high enough that Elizabeth had to stand slightly on tiptoe in order to reach the mail and the other low enough that she had to bend slightly to reach it. The mail was sorted by Postal Code, usually only the first three digits of the five digit numbers. The purpose of a sweeper was to remove the mail from the bins on the machine and to place it in a tray that was behind the sweeper's back as they faced the machine. The trays were also numbered, each one corresponding to a bin number, and were also on racks that had two levels.

Each tray had a clear pocket adhered to its front, just big enough for a paper tag to fit into. The tags were printed with a barcode and the Postal Code, so that it was easy to tell from a glance which mail ought to be in that tray.

Sweeping was simple work from the standpoint of making certain one put the mail from the correct bin into the correct tray. But with two rows of bins, two sides to the machine and about two hundred bins where mail could shoot out in rapid fire at any time, it was a physically demanding job. There were three sweepers per machine and if each one were not on their toes with bulkier mail it was quite possible for a bin to overflow, for the mail to stack up inside the machine and to cause the entire thing to screech to a halt.

Unless the mail caught on fire first, which had happened once so far. That had been an exciting few minutes.

The _rat-tat-tat_ sound of mail nearby caused Elizabeth to jerk out of her rather dazed state. She was on the operator's side of the machine. It didn't get as much mail as the opposite side, so in a sense she had the easier assignment. In another sense, it was more difficult because of the way the plastic doors had to be installed on this side. Elizabeth had to use her left hand to pull the mail free and hadn't quite learned the knack yet of doing so quickly and smoothly enough to prevent the mail coming in behind it from ricocheting out at crazy angles.

No sooner had she cleared bin 48 when mail started to pile up at the other end of her side. Breaking into a dash, Elizabeth reached the new bin – a top one with a shorter feed area – and stopped short. Standing on her tiptoes, she gingerly pulled most of the mail out and twisted to put it in the bin behind her. Another two handfuls had already built up, so she repeated the process swiftly, wincing as she saw one of the envelopes smeared slightly with blood.

Everything about this sweeping job was devilishly hard on her hands. Her nails were all hopelessly broken and the envelopes had torn at her cuticles until they bled. Her skin was perpetually dried out from handling the paper and the cardboard trays, while all the hard edges of the plastic trays had scraped at her knuckles and the tops of her hands.

No, this was _not_ the job she had envisioned when she had been told she might have to help out with it when there wasn't much Encoding work to be done. Encoding was done sitting down, typing numbers onto a numerical entry pad so that the Encoding machine might spray on new codes to pieces of mail that had gotten too mangled or simply weren't printed well enough to be read by the Sorting machines.

For just a moment, Elizabeth thought longingly of Mr. Darcy's offices. The cool, plush and quiet offices. Closing her gritty eyes just for the moment, she rubbed at her temples and wished fervently for some peace and quiet.

_Rat tat tat_, came the sound of more mail nearby. Groaning aloud, since no one could hope to hear her, she forced her eyes back open and turned to deal with the mail.

"Devil take him anyway!" She said it aloud. Someone might be standing right next to her and never hear. Any communication that took place on the floor was done in shouts while standing close to the person with whom you were trying to converse.

Some time later, the shrill sound of a whistle tore through the air. Within about 15 seconds, every machine was turned off and a sudden silence gripped the large room. Elizabeth found it unnerving, no matter how happy she was at the break the silence signaled.

The sound of several conversations spilled into the quiet, filling it with a chatter that Elizabeth found all too cheerful for her tastes. No one engaged her in conversation. She was still new and had spent most of her first week Encoding. So far, she had always chosen her own table and taken her meals in a hurried silence. She hurried so that she could pillow her forehead on her crossed arms and close her eyes for as many minutes as possible before the whistle blew again, calling everyone back to work.

It had been her intent to follow the same pattern this night, but partway through her meal someone joined her at her table.

"Hello there," the newcomer said, taking a seat. "Mind if I join you?"

Elizabeth blinked, trying to recall the woman's name. "Go ahead," she at last remembered to say, rather belatedly since her companion was already settled in and preparing to start eating her own dinner.

"I'm Charlotte," the other woman said. "I don't know if you remembered that from the other night. You can tell me to leave if you want."

"No, it's okay," Elizabeth assured her, mostly out of politeness. "And I'm sure I would have eventually remembered your name. Sorry I've been so antisocial."

Charlotte grinned over at her. "It takes some getting used to the work and the hours. My first week, I got in trouble for sitting down and nodding off."

"How long have you been here?"

"About three months," Charlotte grimaced. "I'll be up for my performance review at the beginning of next week."

Elizabeth nodded. She had been told about the performance review when she had been hired. If she did well, she would get a decent raise and would be eligible for training in other areas of the department. If she did poorly, she would be out of a job.

"Are you nervous about that?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Not really. I was hired in a batch with several other people. They can't afford to lose us all at once, and while two people have already been let go, I figure I'd have to be doing very poorly to lose my job." She leaned in a little, her dark brown eyes darting a quick glance at another table. "That bald guy over there? If anyone loses a job it'll be him."

Elizabeth glanced over and studied the man for a moment. "Why do you say that?"

Charlotte shrugged. "A lot of reasons. He's slow – pray you don't have to sweep with him because you'll end up doing most of the work and your machine will jam all night long. He just doesn't hold up his end. His attitude is terrible. And I think he's on drugs."

Elizabeth's gaze swung back to Charlotte at that last disclosure and the other woman nodded seriously.

"So, how did you end up here?" Charlotte asked, dismissing the bald man and moving on to a new topic as blithely as though she had not just levied a charge as serious as the one she had. "You don't really seem as though you like it."

Elizabeth hesitated before answering. "I suddenly lost my previous job," she hedged. "And I was under the impression that I would be doing more numerical entry here."

Charlotte leaned in, eyes warm with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that," she exclaimed. "Factories have been closing everywhere, it seems. But I don't think Blue Line will be shutting down any time soon."

"Oh," Elizabeth replied and then trailed off. The other woman had obviously misunderstood the circumstances under which she had lost her prior job. Should she correct the misunderstanding and possibly open up herself to either pity or judgment? Of course, _she_ had done nothing wrong and it was only fair that the common people knew that the vaunted Mr. Darcy was not as honorable as he appeared.

"Actually," she began, "I wasn't working for a factory…"

* * *

It had been three weeks since the future Mrs. Darcy had walked into Darcy's life. Three weeks since he had _Seen_ their future happiness and three weeks since he had seen her at all. In the flesh, anyhow. She haunted his dreams like a beautiful ghost, and it was a ghost that he was starting to believe she had been in truth.

Mrs. Reynolds could not find the file she'd had on Miss Elizabeth Bennet – it had gone missing and after three weeks of all of his considerable resources not being enough to track it or _her_ down, only the fact that Mrs. Reynolds still glanced at him apologetically for having so misplaced it convinced him that either Elizabeth or the file on her had ever existed.

He had grilled Mrs. Reynolds closely about everything she might remember regarding Elizabeth's contact information, causing that unflappable woman to give him looks that bordered on sharply questioning. But she did not inquire and he did not elaborate as to why he wanted so badly to know. In any case, the information hadn't been helpful. Mrs. Reynolds remembered her address as having been somewhere on the West Side, but if she lived there, Elizabeth was not listed in the public directory. Nor were any other Bennets, other than a Mark Bennet. He had looked into it, hoping that she might live with her parents. Mark Bennet had proved to be a widower of advanced years. He and his wife had never had any children and while he did have several nieces, none of them were named Elizabeth. No, not even any nieces with a middle name of Elizabeth.

So that had been a dead end, as had every other avenue Darcy had thought to try.

All of this was more than enough to put him on edge. Worse, so far as he was concerned, was that Bingley wanted him to meet that Jane woman. The aspiring author. The sharer of the cab. The beautiful, divine, angelic Jane.

As if in his present state of distress at having quite lost his future wife Darcy _wanted_ to meet the latest scheming woman to ensnare Bingley with her figure and face.

Nevertheless, he was waiting at the restaurant where he had agreed to meet them for dinner. Early, as was his habit, he sat at the bar and slowly nursed a glass of whiskey, neat. He was hoping to take the edge off his mood but not so much that he wouldn't be able to watch this Jane person closely and give Bingley an unbiased opinion of her later. Bingley would ask. He always did.

Sighing in frustration, Darcy checked his pocket watch and then glanced towards the door. In equally typical fashion, Bingley was running late. It was several minutes past when they were meant to meet and if history was any guide, Darcy could expect another quarter hour's wait at the very least.

Almost he tossed the whiskey back in one swallow. But it wouldn't do to indulge, simply because he was frustrated at having lost Elizabeth.

The door to the restaurant banged open behind him and he half-turned to eye the couple that came inside, laughing uproariously. They were both bent over in their mirth, and he staggered just slightly, tugging the woman along with him a few hasty steps as he sought to keep his balance. Darcy rolled his eyes at the spectacle and stood, tossing the whiskey back after all.

It left a pleasant sort of glow behind as it hit his stomach and so it was with only a somewhat forced smile that Darcy went to greet the happy couple: Charles Bingley and his Jane.

Jane seemed to sober up quickly upon seeing him approach and she turned to Bingley, saying something urgent and under her breath. Bingley glanced his way and then smiled reassuringly at Jane, murmuring something too low for him to hear. And then he was upon them and they were recovered from their fit of hilarity and Bingley was proudly introducing Jane to him.

What followed was the most bizarre quarter hour of Darcy's day. They were seated swiftly, Darcy's name enough to conjure a good table at even the most exclusive of restaurants on the busiest of nights. Jane at first seemed slightly overawed on meeting him (_You didn't tell me _he_ was your particular friend I had to meet, Charles!_) and then grew subtly aggressive, asking him his views on employing women in an office environment when women were still having difficulties in obtaining anything that wasn't a traditional role for them in the workforce, other than menial labor.

He had no idea to what end her questions tended, but he answered them as honestly as he might, referencing Mrs. Reynolds as a prime example of how he depended upon the organization and gentleness she brought to his work environment and then Jane seemed to soften towards him. He couldn't help but wonder if this Jane Marchrend was intending to try to wrangle a job out of him, but the rest of the night passed pleasantly enough and covered any range of topics, none of them anything to do with jobs or novels.

Still, Darcy would reserve judgment on Jane until he could see her in a more casual environment. He was not at all convinced she wasn't a mercenary out to ride any rich man's coattails to a life of leisure and Bingley seemed worryingly besotted.

As he readied for bed, Darcy put all such thoughts out of his mind in favor of contemplating what he might try next to find Elizabeth. She couldn't be a specter and if he was to marry her then it only stood to reason that he would eventually find her.

His eyes drifted closed on a remembered vision of her turning her lovely face to his as if seeking for a kiss. Almost calm, almost happy, Darcy went gently into sleep. Dreaming of her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I would first like to thank everyone who reviewed the first chapter and those who added this as a favorite. I deeply regret any reply I might have made to a reviewer that implied this second chapter would have been out sooner. Real life did its thing and I got caught in a string of interviews and horrible temp jobs. Still am, really. I hope I am over the worst and can update more regularly in the coming weeks and months.

Secondly, I would like to make a note about the setting for this story. It takes place in a purely fantasy city of my imagining, which may not ever get a name. Think of it as a rather Steampunk London. References to "aldectric machinery" should be viewed in this light. And pocket watches. And coattails.

Ahem. I'm hoping to get more into Darcy's mindset in the coming chapters. This last was a high overview and shorter than I wanted, but I am also anxious to bring them back into contact with each other. Thanks again for reading and in advance for any reviews. They warm my heart.


	3. Chapter 3

"Finally awake I see," Jane commented the moment she saw her sister careening sleepily into the kitchen, her eyes squinted against the late morning light that streamed in through the window above the sink.

"Coffee," Elizabeth muttered in response. "Need coffee."

"I made some for you," Jane replied. "That pot is fairly fresh."

"I wouldn't care if it were from yesterday." Elizabeth seized the pot and a pale blue mug, pouring from one into the other. A moment later she was making a low growl of frustration as she discovered the sugar bowl to be empty.

Jane said nothing since she did not take sugar in either tea or coffee and could not be blamed for it. She was drinking tea now, a stack of papers before her, childish scrawls of sums visible even from a few feet away.

"I will never get used to this work," Elizabeth groaned, opening cabinet doors almost at random, as though she could not quite remember where the sugar was kept or what she was looking for. She was always somewhat scattered in the mornings and the change in her schedule seemed to have enhanced the trait.

"I have some news," Jane stated calmly, her fingers wrapping around the delicate base of her tea cup.

Elizabeth stopped rummaging long enough to give her sister a sharp look. There had been something in Jane's tone that seemed to warn that the news wouldn't be particularly welcome. "You're not going to marry that Bingle guy are you?" she demanded, frowning.

Jane blushed, lowering her eyes to study her cup of tea. "No!" she protested. "Not yet anyhow."

Elizabeth gave another measured look to her sister and then nodded once, sharply, as if to signal that she would believe Jane for the moment. Then she was back to clattering around in the cupboards for the sugar. "So then – aha! here it is – what is this news?"

The older woman hesitated. Elizabeth was holding her mug of coffee in one hand and groping in a drawer for a spoon to stir in cream and sugar. At Jane's prolonged silence, Elizabeth turned just enough to arch an inquiring eyebrow.

"I had dinner with Charles _Bingley_ last night." She emphasized his last name slightly in gentle reproof of Elizabeth's getting it wrong earlier. "And he introduced me to his particular friend."

"Was it a woman?" Elizabeth asked, finally carrying her coffee to the table and taking a seat. She lounged in her chair, stretching her legs to rest on an unused chair.

"No," Jane admitted. "It was Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth paused, coffee cup halfway to her lips, blinking. Then she took a deliberate sip, grimacing, though whether at the coffee or the thought of Mr. Darcy it was difficult to say.

"I see," was all she said.

"Is that all you have to say?" Jane demanded in surprise.

The younger woman shrugged. "I don't see how it should affect me," she pointed out, a touch of asperity in her voice. "I hardly think I'll have any reason to go anywhere with you and Mr. Bingley. And while I might question his taste in friends, I can hardly hold it against him that he does associate with Mr. Darcy. They are both men of business, are they not?"

"Well," Jane stammered. "That is all very true and I am pleased you are being so level-headed about it. I admit I had some concerns." Here, she blushed, green eyes apologetic.

Elizabeth laughed. "I appreciate the solidarity, dear Jane! But as it is unlikely in the extreme that I myself would ever have to confront that odious man, I shall merely pity you for those times you must endure it."

If anything, Jane blushed even more fiercely now, her eyes glues to her teacup. "But eventually, perhaps," she began and then trailed off. "I mean, if things continue as they have been…"

All humor left Elizabeth in an instant. She sat up very straight, planning both of her feet on the floor beneath her chair. "What is this?" she breathed, hardly daring to speak her conclusion aloud. "Do you have hopes of this Charles? Marriage, I mean?"

"Nothing has been spoken of openly between us," Jane said hastily. Her cheeks were flushed with a rich red color, and the manner in which she brought her gaze up to meet Elizabeth's could only be called embarrassedly determined. "But I do like him a very great deal and he seems to feel the same way about me."

"Well," Elizabeth didn't even try to hide her surprise. "This all seems very fast, Jane."

"It does," Jane agreed, seeming more composed now that she had confessed. "But I am being careful to guard how much I feel, especially around him. I just don't want his friendship with Mr. Darcy to be a source of stress for you; if things progress as I think they may, we shall both eventually be in company with both of them."

Elizabeth's nod was somewhat absent and Jane set her teacup down to reach her hands across the table. "Am I asking too much in asking you to accept the possibility, Dearest? You know I would not if I didn't think it very important."

On the words, Elizabeth seemed to snap back to the present. "Oh, Jane," she cried, squeezing her elder sister's hands in response. "Of course it is not too much to ask! I only hope you will be very happy. And that Mr. Bingley is worthy of you, for I could not bear to lose you to him if he is not."

Jane smiled in return. "He is, Lizzy, and I should like very much for you to meet him yourself."

"I should like that as well," Elizabeth said decisively. "So long as he is not permitted to invite any friends."

Jane was silent a moment before offering, "I do not think Mr. Darcy seemed so bad."

The younger woman rolled her eyes. It was so typical of Jane to want to see the best in everyone. Elizabeth sometimes thought she was as naive as the children she taught, not that she viewed this defect of her sister's with anything less than fondness.

"You may think so," she replied dryly, "but he did not fire _you_ out of hand."

"True," Jane agreed and then bit her lip. "But I did talk to him about his views on hiring women and he did not answer like a man who thought they should stay in more traditional roles."

Elizabeth sat up again in alarm. "Did you mention me at all?"

"Of course not," Jane soothed. "Not in relation to that at any rate." She intercepted a look that told her she had better elaborate and hurried to do so. "The nearest I came to mentioning you directly was when I talked of living with my sister."

"And even if you mentioned your sister, Lizzy, he would have no reason to connect a Jane Marchrend with a Miss Bennet," Elizabeth concluded. The idea seemed to amuse her but she was quickly conceding, "Not that it will be any good if it comes to actually sharing each other's company."

She and Jane did not actually share a drop of blood between them. Jane's mother, a young widow, had caught the eye of Thomas Bennet, then a young widower. Jane and Elizabeth had been young enough when their parents had married that while Jane had some faint memories of her father, Elizabeth could never remember a time when the new Mrs. Bennet had not been her mother figure.

The two of them had been raised as sisters, as parts of broken families trying to become whole. It had been more successful in some ways than in others.

Elizabeth, with her richly dark hair and eyes, favored her dead mother to a remarkable degree. Mr. Bennet had never been able to deny that miniature replica anything. At the same time, the new Mrs. Bennet, Fanny Bennet, had struggled with feelings of jealousy towards the young girl, no less than to her dead mother. Elizabeth was always the one person in the world with whom neither she nor Jane could compete for Mr. Bennet's time or affection.

Fanny Marchrend Bennet had thought a new child, one that was both of theirs, might be what was needed to cement her claim on Mr. Bennet. The result was Lydia, several years younger than both of her elder sisters and quite spoiled by her doting mama.

Yet, though Mr. Bennet showed affection for both Jane and Lydia, he could never help but show a preference for Elizabeth.

Meanwhile, Fanny Bennet's jealousy grew by stages into resentment. And because little Elizabeth had her father's favor, Fanny felt it incumbent on herself to show some preference for "her girls." Not a subtle woman, though she believed herself to be so, she did this mainly by praising everything that Jane or Lydia did while loudly lamenting over Elizabeth's faults, both real and imagined.

An environment such as that could have very well pitted sister against sister, but the two eldest girls clung to each other.

"It may come to nothing," Jane offered in response to Elizabeth's dispirited conclusion.

"An extraordinary hope given your certain appeal," Elizabeth sighed, but there was a twinkle in her dark eyes. "Perhaps it might discomfit him since he will have no warning. I could stand to see him knocked off balance."

"Oh Lizzy," Jane laughed, "you could stand to see him knocked down a flight of stairs."

For a moment, Elizabeth goggled at her sister, mouth hanging open in surprise that Jane should have thought such a thing, let alone spoken it. Then Jane started to giggle and Elizabeth dissolved into merriment just after.

* * *

It had been three months now since Darcy had seen Elizabeth. He couldn't help counting out his days in such a fashion it seemed. Three months, five days and much in the way of great personal frustration.

His work was hardly ever enough to distract him entirely from thoughts of her. He rarely went even an hour without thinking of her or wondering what it might take to find her. In rueful moments he considered that perhaps he had been unwise to let her step out of his offices. Were she still his secretary, he would know _exactly_ where she was.

Other things troubled him from time to time, and in an odd way he was almost grateful for the distractions. The primary of these was Bingley's continued infatuation with Jane Marchrend. He still could not decide how genuine she might be. On the one hand, she seemed happy enough to be in Bingley's company, though usually in a markedly reserved manner. Of course, she taught young children all day for several days out of a week. She might have just been happy to be in the company of adults. She was too cool and it was too difficult to read her with any accuracy.

Tonight would be another opportunity. Bingley had been after him for weeks now to come along with him and Jane to dinner and perhaps dancing or a stroll through a park. When Darcy had protested that he had no wish to come be a third wheel on one of their dates, the other man had exuberantly insisted and then declared that Jane should ask her sister to join them as well. It would all be very merry.

Darcy had delayed as long as possible, citing work or a visit with Georgiana. Eventually, though, he had run out of excuses and a date was fixed. He was even now eyeing his own reflection with a sour disfavor that had nothing to do with his appearance. He was ready for the evening, which would be dinner and the theatre. He had ensured that both the restaurant and their seats would be as acceptable as his money and influence could make them.

A formal night would be best for several reasons, he acknowledged to himself when he was thinking more clearly. It should be enough to keep the younger sister at a proper distance, the theatre would minimize the need for awkward small talk with strangers and he could perhaps see and judge how Jane would respond to a display of wealth and privilege. Would her eyes glitter with avarice? Or would she remain cool, as though it were only her due? It might have been small of Darcy to look so forward to catching the woman in a mistake, but since he did it for Bingley, he told himself firmly that it was right of him to look out for his friend.

Giving his formal bowtie an adjustment it did not truly need and then his hair a final brush that was likewise unnecessary, he sighed heavily and decided he ought to quit stalling. Consulting his pocket watch, he glanced at the mirror one last time before turning to leave his bedchambers. His expression, he noted, did need an adjustment. Easing the furrow from his brow and forcing the grim lines of his mouth into a neutral expression, he headed downstairs and out his front door to where his driver waited.

He directed the man to take him to Bingley's, where he would meet his friend and the ladies. This was only a 10 minute drive at the worst and, as it was raining, very little traffic was out, though they passed a few miserable looking coachmen from time to time.

Even with all his dithering at the mirror, Darcy was still something like twenty minutes early. He debated going in and then decided the wait would be better spent not in company with anyone. Telling his driver to that he would remain in the vehicle for a time, he directed the man to park down the street.

Then, laying his pocket watch where he could easily glance at it, he pulled a slim volume from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. It was an earlier work of the author who had captured his interest so many weeks ago. The fellow, a J.M. Richardson, was gifted, but Darcy rather thought the most recently published book had been significantly better than this one. There was a reserve present in these characters, where the others had been more witty and wry and sometimes outrageous. He felt he should identify more with the reserved characters, but it was the outrageous ones that transfixed him, even when he had disapproved of their actions or methods of thinking.

The story caught him, regardless, and it took a pointed clearing of his driver's throat to jolt Darcy back to the present. Frowning at himself in irritation on seeing the time, Darcy nevertheless thanked the servant in a polite way and they were pulling into Bingley's parkway only a moment later.

Pocketing both book and watch, Darcy left the warm confines of the vehicle, stepping out under the generous overhang of the portico that made an umbrella unnecessary.

He presented himself at the door to a servant who bowed and gestured for Darcy to follow him to the library. It was odd for Bingley to be in the library at all; the man claimed that he was around books all day long and could not see what possible use he might have for them upon arriving home in the evening. Still, his library was impressive in both size and scope and had a great many autographed first editions besides.

It was, Darcy supposed, a suitable choice for entertaining a young lady who claimed she wished to write novels.

Although Darcy knew the way to the library at least as well as Bingley did, he followed the servant through the hallways patiently. As they approached the door, a feminine voice called his name.

He turned to see Bingley's sister, Caroline, approaching. She gave a wave to the servant, dismissing him without words. The thought that she had been laying in wait for him flitted through Darcy's mind, but he hastily arranged his features into what he hoped was a polite smile.

"Miss Bingley," he greeted her, giving a proper bow.

"Mr. Darcy," she breathed in reply, gliding over. The scent of her perfume reached him before she herself did. It was cloying. _She_ was cloying.

As she extended her hand for him to take, Darcy noted Caroline was dressed as if ready to go out for the evening. The deep blue color did nothing for her complexion, but he suspected it had been chosen with its dramatic cut in mind. She was pretty, but her knowledge of it caused her to flaunt it and her flaunting of it, combined with her lack of subtlety, was off-putting in Darcy's opinion. What man _wanted_ to be hunted, even if the cat doing the hunting was wearing a handsome pelt?

"I understand you are to dine out tonight with my brother and Miss Marchrend," Caroline cooed up at him once they were near. There was an edge of sympathy in her voice, no doubt false.

"Yes," Darcy confirmed. "And the younger Miss Marchrend."

He watched closely and was rewarded with seeing her eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in calculation. Not a gambling man, Darcy would have wagered any amount that Caroline had been planning on attending if she could have seen a way to worm her way into being one of the party. That the presence of the younger Miss Marchrend – Lizzy, that was her name – was an obstacle she had not anticipated needing to deal with seemed plain from the look of furious concentration on her face.

For his part, Darcy could not summon up much sympathy for the woman's obvious disappointment. That her object was to ensnare him was something even a blind man could see and even had Darcy himself not _Seen_ his future with Elizabeth, he could not imagine being tempted by Bingley's scheming sister.

"Well," Caroline said in a tone too studied to be mistaken for casual, "I should like to meet this sister of Jane's. Perhaps she may be just as charming."

Darcy just barely held back from rolling his eyes. It was clear that what she really wanted was only to get a look at the woman who would be his companion for the evening. Nut he offered her his arm to escort her into the library. It was a mild pretense, and something he abhorred, but it wouldn't be an altogether bad thing for this younger sister to make her own assumptions about his possibly having a romantic entanglement. Caroline acted as though she owned him so all he need do was be seen in company with her and not resisting her advances.

He felt very pleased as he led Caroline into the library. Bingley and his Jane were standing together near the case that held his autographed first editions. She was holding a book carefully, as though her handling of the cover might somehow mar the item. Her face looked almost reverent as she examined the inside cover where the author had signed his name.

The younger Miss Marchrend was directly across from the door and had her back turned as she perused the shelves, her fingers outstretched as though she had just found a book she wished to pluck from the shelf. Everyone looked up as Darcy and Caroline entered.

Darcy dimly heard Jane greet the woman on his arm with a warm, "Miss Bingley, how lovely to see you again!" But his attention was all for the woman who stood alone, opposite him. His first impression was that she must be his Elizabeth, but then it flickered through his mind that she could_ not_ be, for she was Jane's sister and Jane's last name was not Bennet. Then the woman turned fully to see who had come in and his breath caught in his throat. _It was her_.

Suddenly, he wished he did not have Caroline hanging on his arm in her scandalous dress. He wished he had not been frowning in puzzled confusion when she turned. For on seeing him, her eyes darkened just a shade and she frowned in return.

"Miss Bennet," he blurted, wanting to explain all.

"Wait," Bingley said, not giving him a chance to continue. He looked from Darcy to Elizabeth and back again. "You two know each other?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Moving time along a bit quickly here. A few months passed in between the first section where Jane and Elizabeth were talking and the second scene with Darcy. After all, I wanted to get to the fun bits. Hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

And my deepest thanks again to everyone who reviewed and everyone who added this as a favorite. I wanted to reply directly to reviews but my limited time went to writing since I thought that might be better appreciated.

As a side note, I am editing these myself and would not mind a beta if anyone wished to volunteer. Said beta would also be responsible for pestering the hell out of me for more chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth knew before turning around that it would be Mr. Darcy who had just entered the library. She hesitated momentarily before pulling her hand away from the book she had been about to pull off the shelf – _Airborn_, by J.M. Richardson. She felt eyes on her back and turned to meet them, both unwilling and wondering if she would at least have the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Darcy discomposed.

She would not admit to being somewhat discomposed herself. She had forgotten how tall he was and how good looking. For just an instant she only took him in as a man with broad shoulders and a strong face, serious grey eyes rimmed with thick lashes, as dark as his hair. Dressed formally, he could have been a feast for the eyes. Could have been if he were not who he was. The instant passed and her good sense reasserted itself immediately.

Elizabeth hadn't expected him to enter the room with a woman on his arm, much less a woman who wore a dress with a neckline cut down to breakfast. Jane greeted the woman as Caroline, tipping Elizabeth off to the fact that she was Mr. Bingley's sister. Mr. Darcy was frowning at her and something like recognition flickered across his face.

Elizabeth frowned right back at Mr. Darcy, unable to keep her chin from tilting upwards aggressively in an unspoken challenge. _How will you deal with me now, Mr. Darcy, when you cannot order me from your presence?_

"Miss Bennet," Darcy started, but was unable to continue before Mr. Bingley cut in.

"Wait. You two know each other?" He looked back and forth between them as if wondering why neither of them had bothered to disclose the information. Not that Elizabeth would give her reasons for doing so.

"I wouldn't say that," she replied coolly. "We met in passing once."

"Really?" Mr. Bingley asked, but didn't seem to be truly interested in an answer, for he hurried to introduce his sister to Elizabeth.

The other woman was giving her a narrow look and she flashed her teeth in a predatory way. Even as they greeted each other with falsely polite smiles and words, Caroline did not let go of Mr. Darcy's arm. If anything, she clung more tightly to it, clearly staking her claim on the man. Elizabeth smirked back at her. She had no desire for the man and he looked miserable with her hanging off him. His misery suited her just fine.

"I wouldn't have come at all had Jane mentioned that you had other options to make a foursome," she said, shooting her sister a hard look.

Caroline simpered up at Darcy. "Yes, you could have asked me."

"Nonsense," Mr. Bingley put in hurriedly. "Not that we don't want you, Caro, but Lizzy is Jane's best friend and I thought it would be nice to have our best friends meet."

"Speaking of our evening," Jane commented, glancing at the clock on the wall, "I believe we ought to think of leaving if we're to make our reservation."

Mr. Bingley reached out to squeeze Jane's hand fondly. "I am being taught the virtues of punctuality. Though I remind Jane that we should not have met otherwise if we had not both been running late."

Elizabeth watched her sister blush prettily and rolled her eyes. She and Mr. Bingley were so adorable it verged into being thoroughly obnoxious. They were in rare form tonight, she thought, both adeptly ignoring the tension emanating from the other three people in the room as they delighted in being sickeningly sweet together. And Jane had _promised_ to not wholly abandon her to Mr. Darcy's company.

That man coughed and attempted to disentangle himself from Caroline, clearly flustered when she at first refused to release him and then relieved when she seemed to reconsider and take a different tack.

"I do hope you will have a good time tonight," she said, batting her eyelashes up at Mr. Darcy. "It has been just ages since I have had a night out for dinner and the theatre. You are seeing _Kingmaker_, are you not? I have heard it is wonderful, though a bit too intellectual for those with more common tastes and educations."

"Read that in a magazine, did you?" Elizabeth asked brightly.

Caroline nodded at her, stiffly, as though believing it made the action look queenlier. "Yes, in _Central_." She named a publication that Elizabeth wouldn't have ever spent any money on herself. It was a fashionable magazine, full of beauty tips and gossip. Just the sort of thing she would have suspected such an obviously shallow woman to read.

"Oh," Elizabeth injected a note of relief into her voice, "if it was only _Central_ who said that, I am sure we will all be just fine. I had feared you meant a serious publication, such as _The Stage Review_."

Caroline gasped indignantly and Jane and Mr. Bingley appeared to be smothering smiles. Mr. Darcy only looked grimmer than ever. Pleased with the results, Elizabeth ostentatiously checked the time again and struck out across the room for the door. "We really shall be late if we don't leave. Lovely to meet you, Caroline." A moment later, out in the hallway and pausing just long enough for the rest to catch up, she muttered, "Sooner started, sooner ended."

Except it was not true in this case. The play would start no sooner for them rushing through dinner. But at least it was a play and she would not have to speak with Darcy beyond dinner. And if she played her cards well enough at the restaurant, she would not need to speak to him at all.

Jane and Bingley came into the hallway, arm in arm. Bingley flashed a grin at Elizabeth when he saw her and then winked. Yes, she liked him very well for Jane. He was so endearingly positive and willing to laugh at nearly anything. And he did not mind that Elizabeth had taken Caroline down just a notch. To the contrary, he seemed to encourage it.

Grinning back, Elizabeth half turned to fall into their wake just as Darcy exited the library. He fell into step beside her easily; one stride of his was worth two of Elizabeth's. She would have questioned his shortening his steps at all except he immediately proffered his arm to her, all without saying a word.

Sighing internally, she took it, supposing that he was so used to having a woman at his side that it was only second nature for him to offer. The fact that it was also polite in what was technically a date-like situation didn't enter into it. It was clear that he was willing to entertain Caroline's obvious ambitions and just as clear from the way he would not speak to her and would only eye her sideways when he thought she wouldn't see that he had no more wish to be with her than she did with him.

Well, that was more than fine by Elizabeth.

The promenade to the front doors was made in silence on both their parts. Jane and Mr. Bingley murmured together just ahead and every now and then one of them would laugh softly. Had it been any more than a minute's walk, things would certainly have become rather awkward.

A servant standing at the door opened it for them when he saw them coming and then rushed out ahead of them to pull open the door of the vehicle that sat just outside. Despite herself, Elizabeth felt a surge of excitement. Only the very wealthy could yet afford the automobiles and she realized she had been expecting a coach with horses. As if the great Mr. Darcy would deign to travel by common means.

But she was too excited to care how the opportunity had come about. Since it was Mr. Darcy's vehicle, Mr. Bingley paused and allowed him to hand Elizabeth in. The interior was very like a coach, with two seats facing each other. She slid along the supple leather seat, fussing with her skirt as she did so. Jane followed and then the two men climbed in themselves. She found herself looking across the narrow floor space at Mr. Darcy, naturally. Their knees nearly touched in the middle. Elizabeth looked away, turning to peer out the window next to her, only half listening as Mr. Darcy instructed the driver on where to take them.

The interior was warm and dark and the night outside was wet, with rain spattering against the windows so that it was quite pointless to pretend to admire the scenery. It was all reflected lights and dark shadows. Blinking, Elizabeth elbowed Jane slightly before commenting, "This is such a delight, Mr. Darcy. I have not had the opportunity to ride in one of these before." The nudge had been meant to convey to Jane that she was behaving and Jane ought to take notice of it.

"I am pleased you like it, Miss Bennet," he returned stiffly and then said no more.

Well, she had tried.

"I rather fancy I shall get one eventually," Mr. Bingley said idly. "Though I think I should miss horse-drawn public cabs sometimes."

"You would not," Mr. Darcy contradicted him. "Within a week's time you would quite forget having ever traveled anywhere in any different manner."

Had the comment been directed at her, Elizabeth knew she would have done more than bristle. But Mr. Bingley took no offense – it seemed impossible to offend him in any way – and laughed in reply. "Come, Darcy, I would not have you make everyone believe I am so forgetful and inconstant a fellow as that."

"As you say," Mr. Darcy replied, but his tone was ironic.

"Mr. Darcy," Jane ventured into the ensuing silence, "I recall your saying that you wished to make the production of these automobiles cheaper, if you might."

He acknowledged that it was his wish.

"I had meant to inquire as to why," Jane continued, sounding as interested in his answer as she was in anything Mr. Bingley said. "That is, of the several outcomes that I could see being favorable, I wondered which was uppermost in your mind."

Across from Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy shifted slightly, the motion negating the small space Elizabeth had managed to put between them with surreptitious angling and shifting of her own. "Uppermost?" he echoed, his deep voice gone soft as though considering the question for the first time. "It is somewhat difficult to say, Miss Marchrend. Production and profit are so intertwined that one can never really be more of a consideration than the other. But the third reason, I think, is uppermost even if only by a margin. If I can make my own costs less in producing them, then I hope more people will be able to afford them."

"Whereupon your profit will be even more," Elizabeth pointed out quickly. For just a moment she had been amazed that a man like Mr. Darcy, who had no true need to consider the cost of a thing, would have taken the time to consider that his product might be out of reach of those with more common means.

He turned to look at her in the darkness. "Yes, it would," he acknowledged mildly. "And then I might be able to invest in another production line or another industry altogether. Either way, more jobs will be created."

She stared back across at him, glad for the dim light that would obscure her glare. She had no response for that and it troubled her that he could so easily paint his own business portrait in so flattering a light. He really sounded almost saintly, as if he cared one whit about anyone other than himself. "It's so important to be able to provide a decent job with a decent wage," she said acidly, unable to keep herself from reminding him what he had done to her. _She_ knew he was no saint.

Jane elbowed her sharply in the ribs almost before she had finished speaking, so in an effort to keep the peace and please her sister, Elizabeth hastily amended, "Especially with there being so many in such great need of steady employment."

That was true enough. A drought in the north that had run for several years had put many farmers off their land. They had flocked to towns and then cities, looking for work, looking for anything they might do to keep their families fed and clothed and with a roof over their heads. Most ended up in the factories, working long hours for little pay.

And whatever Elizabeth might think about the man as a person, she had to acknowledge that he had long been renowned for being a good employer and was counted as one of the best. That might be so, but not if one had to work too near him. On _that_ point, she was certain.

* * *

Darcy was relieved when he saw they had arrived at the restaurant. His surprise at seeing Elizabeth at all this evening had not abated. _Fool! Fool!_ Some part of his brain had been chanting at him derisively, ever since he had realized just how long he had been putting this meeting off. He could have been enjoying Elizabeth's company for weeks now, had he just gotten it over with sooner, had he learned the truth of who Jane's younger sister was sooner. He would have to ask about their different last names.

Caught unprepared and taken by surprise at the sight of her, anything he might have planned to say to her once he found her again had flown from his mind, so it was good to have found something he might ask about. He had begun cursing himself for a fool as soon as she had turned around in Bingley's library. The fact that Caroline had been hanging off his arm, dressed in that _appalling_ dress and somehow managing to imply he was hers only made it worse. As did the fact that he had just been thinking himself so clever for fabricating the false impression.

So he had trapped himself in a bad situation. He could hardly shove Caroline away or announce that she had no claim on him. All he could do was hope that his expression of long-suffering patience had been correctly interpreted. That and his eagerness to replace Caroline's grasp on his arm with Elizabeth's. _You are the only one I want at my side._ He hoped the gesture was not unnoticed.

For his part, Darcy felt he could scarcely look at Elizabeth without his mouth going dry. _Beautiful_ was not enough to describe her.

Her dark, lustrous hair had been allowed to grow longer and she wore it loose about her shoulders. It curled slightly at the ends. The dress she wore was emerald green and emphasized a slender waist and soft, womanly curves. Its hem fell just past her knees, exposing her calves.

Until that moment, Darcy had not known that the sight of a woman's calves could be so utterly compelling. But then everything about her was, from the sound of her voice to the scent of her.

It was that last which made him grateful they were about to escape the confines of his automobile. Jane and Bingley's presence was the only thing preventing him from seizing Elizabeth in his arms and kissing her until she was as breathless and dazed as he himself was.

But he had to remember that she could not know what he knew. And even the promise of success was not enough for him to grow hasty or careless in his business dealings. Surely Elizabeth deserved for him to take even more care with her. He would woo and romance her as was her due. She wouldn't think well of him if he were to haul her into his arms.

It would be good to sit across from her at dinner, away from the false intimacy of his automobile, and surrounded with more people and under brighter lights. He could talk with her in a rational manner in a setting where her scent was not filling the air and their legs were not brushing together with every shift of movement. After all, he still needed and wanted to get to know her.

For a moment, he found himself wondering if this strange mix of confidence that they would marry and the fact that he did not actually know her was anything like how persons in arranged marriages must have felt. It had been a common practice several centuries ago.

He shook the thought off as the present recalled him. His driver had parked and come around to open the door. They were pulled up near the restaurant's entrance. An upscale place, it also had a generous portico and so they were able to move from the car to the interior of the restaurant without getting rained on. Bingley was out first and so it fell to Darcy to hand both ladies out. Jane was helped with polite indifference, Elizabeth with something rather more.

Darcy kept Elizabeth on his arm, escorting her through wide doors held open by attentive staff and presented himself to the host. He hadn't even got his name out before the man was bowing and bobbing a head of neat-parted, shiny black hair.

"So pleased to have you, Mr. Darcy, Sir. Your table is ready if you will follow me."

With a glance behind to make sure Jane and Bingley were still there, Darcy followed the host. They were led to a corner table, easily big enough to accommodate a party of twice their size. This was more of Darcy's earlier doings, having feared the prospect of being intimately sardined with a strange woman he had no intention of encouraging in any way.

Still, after the confines of his vehicle, Darcy could not regret a little extra space.

Once they had been seated, the familiar ritual of dining out took all attention. What did the ladies and gentlemen wish to drink? Some wine, perhaps? This vintage is very good, Sir. It has notes of cranberry and vanilla while having a mellow body and rich finish. These appetizers are very good, also, a special creation by the chef, with roasted red peppers and a blend of six cheeses.

At last, all the initial choices were made and their waiter disappeared, leaving them to look over menus that were elegant and small and displayed no monetary figures.

Darcy watched Elizabeth from under lowered lashes, only pretending to study his own options over. She was frowning slightly, as though offended by something she was reading. He wished desperately that he knew her well enough to discern what might cause the expression or, failing that, that he could think of how to inquire if he might help her in some way.

Bingley inadvertently came to the rescue, waving his menu in the air as though overwhelmed by it. "I know you come here often enough, Darcy," he exclaimed. "If you have anything to recommend I should like to hear it."

Three sets of eyes seemed to come to rest on him. "I've only had a handful of entrees," he was forced to admit, "but it's all been excellent. If I were to recommend a beef dish, the tenderloin medallions in red wine sauce is a personal favorite. For a lighter dish, the chicken piccata is superb."

"Have you any opinion about the lobster?" Elizabeth inquired, her tone mild enough but with her chin tilted up as though in challenge.

Inexplicably, Darcy felt his face grow hot. "I'm afraid not, Miss Bennet. I'm allergic to most seafood and avoid it now as a general rule."

"I am sorry to hear that," Jane interjected, and her face really did bear an expression of concern. "I am allergic to strawberries myself, so I know what a trial it can be to be unable to eat something you would wish to."

Darcy smiled back her, his face unconsciously twisting into a grimace at the same moment and making the expression come off very badly. "I never learnt to care for things like shrimp and clams, Miss Marchrend. I do not feel a loss."

Bingley then jumped in with concern that he had not known of Jane's allergies and the two were that quickly engrossed in a conversation which had no room for anything other than Bingley's concern and Jane's assurances that he needn't be.

Seeing them so involved, Darcy turned his own attention back to Elizabeth. She was rolling her dark eyes and gave a small shake of her head in her sister's direction, but Darcy thought there was something of fondness in the gestures.

"I did not expect you to be Miss Marchrend's sister," Darcy observed, taking the plunge. He winced mentally at the inanity of his comment; what had happened to any of the dozen things he had imagined saying to her?

She gave him a quick smirk over the top of her menu. "Why should you?" she inquired, eyebrow arched. "Even if we had the same last name, there should have been no reason for you to believe you would ever see me again."

Darcy absorbed that in silence, wondering if he were imagining the edge he heard towards the end of her statement.

"I meant to inquire as to how you two should have different surnames," he elaborated.

There was that smirk again, playing around the corners of her lips. Perhaps he was misreading it as a smirk. Perhaps it was how she smiled. There was enough allure in it that Darcy wouldn't object to teasing the expression out of her every day for the rest of their lives.

"The same way most people usually have different surnames, Mr. Darcy," she replied in a low voice. "We do not have the same parents."

Something about the definite way she said that let him know it was a closed topic. Wincing openly at his blunder, Darcy cast about for something else to say. Before he could try again, Elizabeth set her menu down with an air of having reached a decision and fixed him with her whole attention.

Darcy thought conversation was unneeded as long as he could stay drowning in the directness of that gaze.

Across from him, she took a deep breath as though steeling herself to ask a difficult question. But when she spoke, she merely inquired politely how he knew Mr. Bingley.

Unaccountably disappointed, Darcy nevertheless made the answer as interesting as he could and then spend the next few minutes enumerating Bingley's qualities. His confusion at her interest in the topic gradually gave way to understanding – she was asking for her sister's sake.

Was it planned or was Elizabeth being protective of her sister? At length, he decided upon the latter. After all, there were no questions about his income or even a passing reference to his wealth. No, Elizabeth was more concerned about who he was and what his character was like.

If such a thing were even possible, Darcy found himself loving her all the more.

* * *

**AN**: My deep and profound thanks again to everyone who reviewed and who added this as a favorite or as an alert. I wish I had more time to express my thanks more personally than this generic scattershot approach. My thanks also to everyone who volunteered to pester me for more chapters. I haven't been pestered beyond the initial wave of volunteers, so I trust this chapter is not too late in coming! I had intended to get all the way through dinner conversation but Darcy stops to analyze pretty much everything and this was growing long. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy it and don't mind the somewhat abrupt ending. More to come as soon as I can get pen to paper.


	5. Chapter 5

To Elizabeth's reckoning of time, dinner progressed at a speed somewhere between glacial and at a snail's pace. Mr. Darcy seemed to feel that all the proper behavior due to a real date was likewise due to her. In any other man, Elizabeth would have approved such a gentlemanly attention to propriety. But where this man was concerned, she rather wished he would simply ignore her and devote his attention to his friend, rather than continue to attempt to make polite conversation with her.

Every topic they tried following the waiter's interruption of her line of inquiry regarding Bingley's character had been nearly a social disaster. This was largely Darcy's fault, since he seemed to take a perverse delight in referencing their last – and only – previous meeting.

"Your hair looks different," had been his first remark along these lines. "It's a lot longer now."

She had hardly known how to reply and had forced herself to swallow the worst of several unkind remarks, the bitterest of which would have been a statement about how long it had been before she had cut it into something more fitting for a professional environment, all to no avail since she had been fired a mere half an hour into her employment. She still mourned the loss of that length and was determined to grow it back out to its former glory.

Instead, proud of herself for being able to remain mostly polite, she had made some non-committal response about hair having a tendency to grow when left to its own devices.

Hardly a witty statement, but he had smiled in reply. If Elizabeth had been able to accurately guess his thoughts at that moment, she would have taken a razor to her head and shaved herself as bald as an egg out of pure, horrified spite.

After the third instance of their conversation coming inexorably back to their first meeting or what her current employment situation was, Elizabeth finally suggested as sweetly and politely as she could that perhaps they might find a topic of conversation that involved neither painful subject.

At least, that was how she saw it. "Look," she had sighed, "do you think we could talk about something that doesn't revolve around the bones of a bare five minute's acquaintance? It really isn't much to go off of."

Given the not-at-subtle elbow Jane had dug into her ribs, that hadn't been viewed as particularly polite.

And that insufferable Mr. Darcy had actually looked between them and flashed a smug smile at her.

"Perhaps we could speak of literature," he suggested. "Do you read much, Miss Bennet?"

"When I have time for it, yes." In truth, she hadn't so much as picked up a book since she had started at Blue Line, having been too exhausted in the first few weeks to do so and having since begun to cultivate a friendship with Charlotte since Jane was increasingly spending her own free time with her Mr. Bingley.

"What sort of things do you enjoy?" Darcy pursued, seeming not at all discomposed by her increasingly terse attitude.

"All sorts of things," Elizabeth hedged. "Genre fiction, mainly."

"Do you?" Darcy leaned forward, dark eyes intent. "Have you ever read anything –"

He was cut off by the arrival of the food. He and Bingley had followed his recommendation of the beef tenderloin medallions in a red wine sauce reduction. Their plates were presented artfully, with piped mounds of mashed potatoes ladled over with rich gravy and a selection of steamed vegetables off to one side. Jane had also followed his suggestion, but had gone with the chicken picatta. Perfectly golden brown and sliced atop pasta in a white wine sauce with a scattering of capers, the sight of it was enough to make one's mouth water.

Only Elizabeth had declined to follow where Darcy pointed, though her defiance had not encompassed ordering the lobster simply because it was sure to be one of the most expensive entrees on the menu. Determined to tread where he would or could not, she had at last settled on pecan crusted salmon.

Conversation at the table turned blessedly more general for the next few minutes as the food was exclaimed over. It really had been beautifully – even artfully – prepared and presented. Darcy poured wine for everyone himself, the amount in each glass being generous.

Bingley raised his glasses and merrily toasted them all and his hopes for a most enjoyable evening. Caught up in his infectious good humor, Elizabeth forgot herself long enough to bestow a genuine smile on each person as they mock formally clinked their glasses together. Even Darcy.

His return smiled seemed equally genuine and for a moment she could only stare. He really was a very good looking man when he wasn't staring down his nose at someone.

Good sense quickly reasserted itself and Elizabeth mentally scolded herself, telling herself she should not be so weak as to let a smile make her forget the really very despicable way he had treated her.

All too soon, Jane and Bingley were wrapped up in another conversation that held no room for anyone else. Elizabeth smothered a sigh, planning on giving Jane not only a piece of her mind that night, but also issuing an ultimatum. She, Elizabeth, _would not_ come along for any more dates unless Jane swore on her hope of dignity to not leave her to the task of being pleasant with Mr. Darcy, alone and with no support.

Especially since his sense of behaving appropriately with a date – even a blind, set-up, favor to his friend date – seemed to involve a great deal of awkwardly persisting in trying to make conversation. Either he was very bad at the exercise generally speaking or he thought he had to keep the topics simple enough for her to understand. Given his earlier eloquent discourse on matters of business or the few conversations he had had with Bingley, Elizabeth suspected it was the latter.

Really, it would be _less_ rude of him to ignore her altogether.

He was even now trying to engage her in conversation regarding the theatre.

"Tell me," he commanded, looking down his nose at her, "do you actually read _The Stage Review_?"

"I never claimed I did," she replied, a touch defensively.

He seemed mildly nonplussed for a moment before recovering. "Do you see many plays?"

Elizabeth put her fork and knife down and finished chewing and swallowing her mouthful of salmon before looking directly at him to answer. "No," she said dryly. "I don't typically have either the time or ability for such pursuits."

Darcy reddened slightly and Elizabeth wondered if she had managed to embarrass him or if the color came from some other source. He seemed to be unable to think of anything else to say and Elizabeth hid a grim smile.

Jane had not been paying very close attention or her rudeness – she _was_ being rude and she did not feel sorry enough to stop or to apologize – would have been called to account in some way or another.

Returning determinedly to her food, she did her best to ignore the man across from her and prayed again for the night to end.

Dinner finally did, mercifully. Darcy seemed increasingly unable or unwilling to make conversation and the last quarter hour was spent in almost perfect silence as they each pretended to be engrossed in Jane and Bingley's conversation. Unable to help herself, Elizabeth would occasionally dart a glance across the table; more often than not it seemed Darcy was glancing back at her. No matter how Elizabeth squirmed internally in embarrassment for being caught looking at him, she could not seem to discipline herself enough to keep her attention on Bingley and Jane. Despite appearances, she couldn't have said what they were speaking of had she been asked.

Well, damn the man for being attractive! And damn her, too, for being even partially susceptible to it.

She was castigating herself so fiercely on this account that she found herself back on Darcy's arm and escorted halfway through the restaurant before she realized dinner had ended. This brought another self-inflicted mental shake and she found to her dismay as he handed her into his waiting automobile that it was her turn to color slightly.

And then matters grew worse as Jane slipped in after her and took the seat opposite her.

"What are you doing over there?" Elizabeth hissed.

There was just enough light to see Jane's green eyes widen in surprise before Bingley followed, glancing left and right before making the choice to sit right next to Jane.

All of which left only the seat next to Elizabeth for Darcy to take.

Scowling briefly at Jane – who was too busy making eyes at Mr. Bingley to even notice – Elizabeth pressed closer to the wall of the automobile's interior as Darcy stepped in and suddenly seemed to fill all of the available space and then some. Elizabeth's mood blackened still further as she found herself wedged tightly between the solidity of the hard wall and the solidity of Darcy's frame. He seemed larger than ever with the length of his leg pressed firmly against her thigh and the touch seemed to burn her skin, right through the layers of her clothing. She wished desperately to be able to shift away, but there was nowhere at all to go.

The silence from their dinner prevailed between them for several minutes and Elizabeth feigned interest in a story Jane was telling Bingley, about something one of her students had done a few weeks ago. She had heard the story before and didn't see the same humor in it that Jane seemed to. Bingley, however, was in tune with her sister and seemed to find the tale far more interesting than its contents permitted. He was besotted, clearly.

"Miss Bennet," Darcy's voice came suddenly to her ear. "Are you well?"

Startled, Elizabeth turned to look at him in surprise. He was so very close that their faces were bare inches apart and had she not been drowning in his intent gaze, she would have blushed in horror when she found herself staring at his face as though she had just seen it for the first time.

Much too belatedly for her liking, she found her voice. "I'm perfectly well," she informed him faintly. "Why ever do you ask?"

His dark eyes seemed to search hers for the veracity of her statement. "You have grown more and more quiet as the night has gone on," he observed. "After your – _remarks_, shall we say – to Miss Bingley, I had thought you perhaps more naturally lively." His eyes tightened briefly at his own remark. "I mean only to express my hope that you are not unwell," he finished stiffly.

"I suppose I am only somewhat tired," Elizabeth lied. He hoped she was not unwell? Did he fear she might infect him with her no doubt common illness? Or did he fear she might make a regrettable mess in his precious automobile?

"And perhaps I am not as lively as you think," she added. Her quietness was a sign that something was wrong, and it unnerved her that he should guess so accurately. He did not know her and he would never know her. Because, of course, she was not ill of anything other than the strain of remaining polite to the insufferable prig.

"It is some distance to the theatre," he replied, his deep voice low and uncomfortable intimate in their cramped setting. "You might rest your eyes."

She was sure she was gaping at him in the darkness. "I will be well, thank you."

He chuckled in response, though she could find nothing funny in this bizarre exchange. It struck her suddenly that he might be quite mad. He seemed to run very hot and cold, going distant at strange times and seeming unbearably intent at others. She had heard of similar types of mania, but had never encountered it herself.

To Elizabeth's profound relief, Darcy turned his attention to Jane and Mr. Bingley, inquiring what they knew of the play and speaking intelligently about some of the principal actors and earlier work they had done.

"I have read glowing reviews regarding Abel Markham's performances," Jane commented, excitement evident in her voice.

Elizabeth glowered. The insufferable man must think her a halfwit to have not even attempted anything but the most vapid of conversation with her. True, speaking of actors was hardly intellectual discourse, but he seemed to think that she was only capable of vague generalities on a topic which everyone else might be reasonably trusted to have more intimate knowledge of the topics he chose.

"Georgiana will be devastated to have missed his performance," Darcy was saying in reply to Jane. "She is quite enamored of him."

"Georgiana?" Jane inquired, saving Elizabeth the trouble of having to be curious. _She_ would not have asked for anything.

"My sister," Darcy said proudly. "She is at school now."

"I did not realize you had a sister, Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth felt him stiffen and then shift around uncomfortably, reminding her acutely of how very close she was to having him sit on her.

"She is much younger than I am," he explained at last. "And I take great pains to keep her from the public eye."

"Of course," Jane murmured in sympathetic tones. "I imagine it would be difficult to deal with so much exposure."

"Just so," Darcy agreed stiffly.

"It seems an odd thing to be famous for," Elizabeth found herself musing aloud. "Making good business decisions, I mean," she amended.

Beside her, Darcy seemed to vibrate briefly, but it was Bingley who answered, rejoining the conversation. "I think Darcy here is more famous for being wealthy than he is for making sound business choices."

That had been her own point, of course, but she would not have dreamed of putting it so indelicately.

"Of course, if he ever finds a woman who will tolerate his ways long enough to agree to marry him, he will become a less interesting object to the press."

Elizabeth found herself having to stifle a sudden giggle, the manner of Bingley's speaking had been so flippant. But even concentrating very hard on not laughing was not enough to make her miss Darcy's low murmur, undoubtedly meant for only his own ears.

"Ah, but I already have."

Mentally wishing him as happy as he might be with a woman as miserable as Miss Bingley, Elizabeth settled back to endure the rest of the ride in silence.

* * *

**AN:** Apologies for the long delay from the last chapter to this one and for any mistakes I missed in my very hasty edit of this chapter before publishing. That thing we call Real Life continues to baffle and beat me, and I have interesting days ahead. I hope I'll be able to find more time to write than I did these past three weeks. Hope you enjoy this, despite Elizabeth remaining frustratingly silent with Darcy. They'll spar soon! Thanks for reading, for reviewing and for being awesome.


	6. Chapter 6

Darcy entered his rooms, tugging off his tie and flinging it carelessly in the general direction of his dresser. The article of clothing fell far short and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. And though he was typically the very soul of tidiness, Darcy cared so little that he gave it barely more than a glance.

With his jacket shrugged off, he didn't bother to disrobe further before falling backwards to lie half on his mattress with a sigh.

The night had been largely a success, he thought, especially in light of what his previous expectations had been. The creature he had imagined Jane's sister to be – a simpering, clingy and graceless girl with no more on her mind than his money – was only his imagining. His future wife, his Elizabeth has been there. And if Jane was her sister…

It had come slowly to him that perhaps it was unreasonable to expect that she would be wholly sanguine about his apparently firing her without notice or reason. But tonight had shown him that she must not hold it against him. She hadn't been surprised to see him. She had come along on this night, knowing she would be much in his company.

That was not something a woman bearing a grudge would do, or he missed his guess.

Smiling a crooked smile up at the ceiling of his room, Darcy kicked his shoes off before closing his eyes to recall his favorite moments from the night.

Seeing Elizabeth in Bingley's library, looking so fetching in that green dress.

Elizabeth lighting up with pleasure at the sight of his automobile.

Elizabeth pressed against him in the back of the automobile, her scent filling his nostrils and sending the most unfamiliar sensations coursing through him.

Elizabeth reacting to the play, laughing with obvious delight at some places and eyes shining with unshed tears in others. He had watched her more than he had watched the players on the stage and rather thought he had enjoyed his show as much as (if not more than) anyone in the audience enjoyed the spectacles on stage.

And, most of all, Elizabeth turning drowsy in the back of the automobile as they returned from the theatre to drop everyone off for the night, each at their respective houses. She had gone from animatedly talking about the play, to yawning enormous yawns that she couldn't quiet manage to hide, to sighing soft little sighs and eventually succumbing to the pull of sleep, her head drooping onto his shoulder.

"Shall I wake her?" Jane had asked, looking both bemused and concerned in the dim light provided by the streetlamps.

Darcy had affected casualness as he glanced down to where Elizabeth's head rested against him, as if he only just noticed and hadn't spent the past few minutes feeling electrified with sensations. "I wouldn't want to deprive her of her sleep," he had replied, trying to sound indifferent. "It doesn't bother me."

Jane had smiled across at him and Darcy was struck by how pretty she really was. But she was nothing to his Elizabeth.

"Is it normal for her to sleep so early?" He couldn't help but pry just a little. It was difficult, wanting to know everything about her, knowing that someday it would be his right to have the most intimate of knowledge about her, but constrained now by social graces and the way his tongue seemed to tie itself in hopeless knots when her eyes were on his.

"The weekends are always a bit difficult for her," Jane had said. "She works a late shift during the week but can't seem to teach herself to sleep in on her days off. I fear she didn't get more than four or five hours of sleep last night."

Darcy had found himself frowning over this and feeling a pang of guilt. If she were still working for him – if he had not dismissed her – she would be working during the daytime hours. But, no. This was a better sacrifice than that of her entire reputation when he married her. It bothered him that she should have to be the one to make it.

"What is it that she does now?" More prying. Another pang of guilt for not knowing.

Unexpectedly, it was Bingley who had fielded this question. "She sorts mail for Blue Line, Darce. Honestly, didn't the two of you talk about anything the whole evening?"

It galled Darcy, both that he hadn't been able to get this information out of her and that Bingley knew more of his future wife than he himself did. So it was with a bite in his voice when he replied, "She didn't wish to speak of anything related to our last meeting."

Bingley had been undeterred by his tone and had even leaned forward slightly as though in eager anticipation. "Oh yes. How do you two know each other anyway?"

He had felt the color rising through his cheeks, anger and shame intermingled. There was simply no easy way to explain any of it. Even Bingley did not know of his strange second Sight. _Georgiana_ didn't know. No one did and no one could.

"She interviewed to be my secretary," Darcy gritted at last. And then, because it felt so dishonest to leave it there with the false implication that he had met her then and declined to hire her, he had unwillingly elaborated. "She was hired, in fact. But I asked Mrs. Reynolds to find her something else to do."

Bingley had expressed surprise but had not pressed for further details. Jane had not expressed any surprise whatsoever, but of course she would have known. That she had known and did not appear to hold it against him in any way was cause for more hope, he had realized. If Elizabeth had been outraged at her dismissal, would not Jane side with her out of sisterly affection?

Both too soon and not soon enough, the night was over and each of their party was home for the night. Like the besotted fool he undoubtedly was, Darcy could not begin to think of sleeping now, instead rummaging through his memories of the night in the same way a miser might rummage through his stacks of coin, happy to just have them.

That last memory tugged at him now, though. His Elizabeth was sorting mail for Blue Line? Working nights like some penniless nobody when she might have every advantage of his fortune? He had noticed her hands, of course, drawn as he was to drink in the smallest details of her appearance. They had seemed rougher than he recalled from their first meeting, the cuticles peeled away and broken in spots.

He might be able to resign himself to the temporary sacrifice of her working nights, but hard physical labor was something else altogether. He must figure out some way to change those circumstances for her.

For a brief, delirious minute, Darcy had a vision of himself on one knee before her, begging her hand in marriage and promising as long an engagement as she should like so they might both come to know each other better before they were wed. They would be happy together, he knew. He had Seen it. Surely, of all people, his future wife might be entrusted with his greatest secret?

But no. She deserved to be courted properly, his Elizabeth. It could not be for long now that he knew where she lived and had such a conveniently direct line towards more social events with her through Bingley's relationship with her sister.

Darcy yawned now, the day's length and the wild emotional upswing at last catching up with him. It was enough, he thought, that he had a plan for easing her life as much as he might in the coming weeks and months until he could wed her.

He undressed for bed, already lost in dreams of how grateful she would be once he had saved her from her labors at Blue Line. She was proud enough to have not accepted his offer of other employment sent via Mrs. Reynolds's good offices, so he would have to be careful in how he presented it. But that was something he would think on more later, when he wasn't tired and fuzzy with the happy visions that were even now presenting themselves to him as though to urge him along his path.

"Next time," he said in a murmur, falling into his soft bed without having bothered to dress in nightclothes, "next time I will have more to say to her."

Then he wrapped his arms around a spare pillow, fancying he could still smell the delicious scent of her, and he slept.

* * *

Darcy woke the next morning feeling as though he had been run over several times by his own automobile. His eyelids were like weights, dragging themselves closed on the few occasions he tried to pry them open long enough to look to the clock to see the time. His mouth was dry and felt foul besides, but he couldn't seem to make himself move even for water and cleaning his teeth.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling a terrible urgency that he should be awake and doing… something. Something that would make him happy. Something to do with his wife. He dreamt in fitful bursts, always the same horrible scene of Elizabeth looking at him as from a very great height, her mouth curled in disdain as she told him she hated him and never wished to see him again.

Then he would wake, thrash fitfully, wish for water and succumb to the dream again.

Once, it was the bells that woke him, peeling sonorously in the distance. How many times had they rung before he had awoken? He counted seven peels, but he had been waking and sleeping for so long now, it must surely be later than that.

He dozed again.

Soon, it was his throat that began to wake him up at irregular intervals in that horrible dream. He almost welcomed the burning sensation there since it saved him from facing rejection yet again by his most beautiful and wonderful Elizabeth.

At length, what felt like days later, it was the presence of another person that woke him.

Darcy stared with dull eyes into the face of his housekeeper, who much have finally grown concerned enough about his absence to come and check on him. Her aged face seemed even more lined with wrinkles than normal.

"I'm so sorry, Master," she was babbling. "I thought as you might just be sleeping in, like, with the late night you had and all. I've sent someone for the doctor. Is there anything you need?"

Darcy watched her hands wring themselves in unconscious fear and then saw, in a rather detached manner, as one of his own hands drifted up to stop that circling, twisting motion. "Water," he croaked.

She made some reply but he was already drifting again.

Then there were strong hands helping him up and a glass being held to his lips. Water lapped at his closed mouth and then into it when he realized what was happening and performed the actions of sipping and swallowing reflexively.

Prying his eyes open again, Darcy was mildly startled to see it was Bingley holding him up. When had the other man arrived?

"Bingley," he said in his strangely hoarse voice. "What-?"

He couldn't finish the question, both because talking wearied him and the glass was still at his lips. The water was a blessed relief as it slid down his parched throat, slightly cooling the fires that raged there.

"We were to meet for lunch today," Bingley answered, his voice unnaturally tense. "When I showed up and you weren't already there, I knew something was wrong. Didn't think I would find you trying to die in your own bed."

"Not… dying," Darcy panted.

Bingley's blue eye seemed skeptical as it gazed down on him. "We'll see what the doctor has to say about that. Drink more water now. You're burning with fever."

Fever. The word broke through Darcy's clouded mind and brought with a surge of alarm. "I'm sick?"

"Very," Bingley confirmed grimly.

"'Lizbeth," Darcy croaked. "Jane." Darcy added the last on with as much emphasis as he could muster, knowing that only concern for his beloved angel would send Bingley away from what might be his own death bed to tend for Jane. If Jane was cared for, then so would Elizabeth be.

_My wife_, he thought. His eyes had closed sometime in the last few seconds and the darkness seemed intent on claiming him. A vast ocean of nothingness surged towards him and pulled him under, drowning him in depths of sightless and soundless existence.

When at last Darcy's head broke the surface of that ocean, all seemed calm around him. He still felt parched, but his eyes no longer felt weighted closed. They fluttered open upon his command, flinching only from the brightness of the light in his room.

As soon as he could keep them open long enough to do so, Darcy scanned his room with some confusion. Bingley had disappeared and the room seemed empty. A grey sort of light filtered in softly from the curtains at the east-facing window. It was not that bright, really, but his head throbbed in time to the pulse that hammered steadily through his veins.

He tried to push himself into a sitting position and groaned aloud when the effort proved to be more than he could handle.

As he subsided, Darcy heard faint stirrings from somewhere off to his left and rolled his head almost drunkenly to see what had made the noise. His eyes fell on a chair that wasn't typically pulled up to his bedside and the form that shifted sleepily within it soon proved to be Georgiana.

"Brother?" she asked, her voice pitched low. "Are you awake?"

"Georgie," he whispered in reply, voice not strong enough for more than that. "I-"

"Shh," she urged him, moving to stand next to his side. "You've been very sick. Let me get you some water."

She passed out of his line of vision then, but he heard her move across the floor and then heard the sound of water pouring into a glass. It was the most melodious sound he had ever heard in his life, he thought, dry tongue touching equally dry lips in anticipation.

It took some doing on both their parts, but she at last got him levered up into a sitting position and held the cup to his lips. Too exhausted from the effort of rising, Darcy couldn't even bring himself to be irritated at being treated like an invalid.

"More?" Georgiana asked him once he had drained the cup.

"Yes," he croaked, voice still raspy despite the liquid. "Please."

She settled him back against his headboard and then went to pour another glass. He could see her now, at a low desk that was serving as a sideboard. He was straining to remember whatever he could and the sudden thought that he had gone to bed naked had his eyes flying downward to ensure he was still decent. He wore nightclothes now, from what he could see of his chest, and had been covered with blankets as well.

"How long?" he asked in that scratchy voice, grimacing at both the sound and the feel of it.

"Two days," Georgiana answered briefly, hurrying back over to his side. "Mrs. Jenkins found you still in bed around ten thirty on Monday when she found that your breakfast hadn't been touched and none of the staff could account for having seen you."

"Bingley?" he asked next, between gulps of cool water.

"He came by around one in the afternoon and insisted on staying through most of the afternoon and evening with you." Georgiana had pulled a damp cloth from somewhere and folded it against his brow. It felt nice, seeming to add some clarity to his thoughts.

"He sent a message," she added. "_The ladies are fine_. I hope _you_ know what that means."

Darcy started to nod and then thought better of it when his brains seemed inclined to slide out of his skull. "Yes," he acknowledged. "His Jane. Her sister. Was worried."

He couldn't seem to speak a complete sentence. But even through the fatigue and pain that wracked him still, he felt a sort of flying euphoria. Elizabeth was well. That was all that mattered.

* * *

**AN:** A short one but.. yay? I've been sick. Darcy is sick. Life is hectic. Blah. Blah. Blah. I'll try to get more up soon. Do y'all prefer Darcy or Elizabeth for POV?

PS: Please stop asking about time period. There isn't one. It's fictional, like flying pigs and whatnot. Steampunky London is the best I can tell you. 3 - Imposter


	7. Chapter 7

Elizabeth staggered into the flat, her mind having been firmly fixated on bed and sleep for the past several hours. Mondays were the worst and a Monday after spending the evening before in the odious company of one Mr. Darcy was doubly so.

As fogged as she was from lack of sleep and a particularly trying night at work, Elizabeth didn't at first realize that there were lights on in the house or that this was an oddity at the ungodly hour of one hour past midnight. As she kicked off her shoes, realization sank in and a frown spread across her face.

"Jane?" she called softly, when a quick glance of the living room and kitchen turned up no visible signs of her sister. There was no reply and Elizabeth shrugged, killing the lights with a flick of the switch. It wasn't like Jane to leave them on and go to bed, but there was nothing else obviously amiss. She must have forgotten; perhaps she had worked late and was equally weary from the exertions of the night before.

"Because making eyes at Charlie is so taxing," Elizabeth muttered to herself and laughed quietly at her own observation. Rubbing a hand over her eyes she sighed and started to shuffle down the hallway to the bedrooms. "Talking to yourself and laughing at your own jokes? You need sleep, Little Bean."

Grimacing at the continued ridiculous nature of her conversation with herself, Elizabeth almost didn't notice that there was yet another light left burning in the flat. It shone faintly from under Jane's closed bedroom door, not bright enough to be cast by the main overhead light. She stared at the thin strip of carpet the light exposed, frowning.

This was very unlike Jane, indeed. A light sleeper, she would have to be very ill to be actually sleeping in anything less than perfect darkness.

Elizabeth groped for the doorknob, roused enough from her own exhausted state to feel a stab of alarm that Jane might be unwell. Just as she began to quietly turn the handle, a soft sound from inside Jane's room made her abruptly stop. It had been a low sound, somehow intimate. Not a murmur or a sigh, but a throaty sort of gasp.

"Charlie?" Elizabeth mouthed the question, wanting to instantly dismiss the very idea. Jane would not be so indiscreet or so reckless.

Impelled by curiosity, Elizabeth soon found herself with her ear pressed hard against Jane's door, listening for all she was worth. For several long minutes, there was nothing to hear. Chewing absentmindedly on her lower lip, Elizabeth debated the merits of knocking or simply leaving well enough alone.

If Jane _were _in there with Charlie, all of them would be too mortified to face each other the next day should Elizabeth go barging in and witness something so private. On the other hand, it was quite unthinkable that Jane would be taking a man to her bed before marriage. The scandal of such an act would taint their whole family irretrievably if it were ever discovered and Jane was too good to contemplate such a disastrous course of action.

On the other hand, if Jane were ill, sleeping fitfully and burning with fever, Elizabeth could never forgive herself for not doing everything she might to help her sister.

Drawing back, she raised a hand and rapped firmly on the door. "Jane?" she called, pitching her voice to be heard easily through the door. "Jane, I'm coming in."

There was a sound of rustling and a smothered gasp from the other side of the door and Elizabeth felt her face settle into grim lines. Counting to ten so as to attempt to spare herself any potentially indelicate sights, she breathed deeply and then pushed the door open.

Despite herself, her eyes flew immediately to the bed. Jane was huddled there, quite alone, her face red and puffy from crying. Telltale streaks of moisture down her sister's fair cheeks bore more than adequate testimony that this had been going on quite recently.

"Jane!" Elizabeth cried, rushing across the small space to sit next to her sister on the bed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Jane opened her mouth as though about to reply but all that came out was a sob.

"It will be alright, Dearest," Elizabeth soothed, pulling her sister into an embrace and smoothing down her hair. She continued to murmur words of gentle comfort, feeling both deep concern for her sister's welfare and nearly as deep a curiosity mingled with dread as to what had happened to cause her normally serene sister to become so overwrought.

Both emotions mounted over the next several minutes as Jane continued to sob softly in her arms. "Hush," Elizabeth murmured, stroking Jane's hair. "Shh. It'll be alright, Jane. Whatever it is. You can tell me."

"It's Charlie," Jane wailed.

Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "What about him, Dearest? Is he sick? I'm sure it will pass."

"N- no." Elizabeth let go as Jane at last stirred herself to sit up. The older woman groped for a handkerchief, which Elizabeth provided before settling back against the headboard to listen.

Jane dabbed at her eyes and nose before finally composing herself enough to speak. She looked up with reddened eyes, her face blotchy but still somehow not anything less than beautiful. "He left me," Jane said, her voice wobbling a bit despite her obvious efforts to keep it steady.

"Left you?" Elizabeth cried, instantly indignant and baffled. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

Jane looked down at her hands, twisting the handkerchief between them in an agitated fashion. "I don't understand it," she confessed. "He said that he had enjoyed our time together. And that he hoped I would be happy."

"Yes, but why did he leave?" Elizabeth demanded, dismissing Charlie's empty words with an irritated wave of her hand. "Surely he gave some reason?"

"He said he didn't want to be used to get at his friends," Jane replied, voice hitching in a sob on the word _used_.

"What? That makes no sense."

"I know," Jane cried. "I - I tried to ask him what he meant." She took several deep, shuddering breaths. "But h- he was so cold! And then he was just... gone."

Muttering a choice few words under her breath, Elizabeth gathered Jane in more snugly, half-rocking her as though she were a child in need of soothing.

As she spoke occasional phrases meant to sooth something that could not be easily mended, Elizabeth found her mind fixed on what Charles had said to Jane. There could really only be one friend he might mean. That damnable Mr. Darcy must have said something to set Mr. Bingley off. Had it been a warning? A complaint about being forced to go along on a double date with her?

With a fire of hatred beginning to grow bright in her heart, Elizabeth sat dry-eyed and seething through the hours spent watching her sister suffer, vowing that Mr. Darcy would someday know the full extent of her wrath.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello there. If anyone is still reading, I appreciate it! I've had a very busy few months (new job!) and am now settling into a comfortable routine. The new job leaves me all sorts of downtime to do whatever I wish, so I hope to be writing more and posting more faithfully. To help in that endeavor, I've decided to go ahead and start posting shorter chapters. It's easier to crank out 1-2k words than it is to aim for 4-5k, because I rarely have the focus or the time to do longer segments and then my writing time is eaten into by re-reads and wondering "where was I going with this?" Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**, the first: **Warning! There will be some very mild allusions towards an attack.** Very tame and very not-graphic, but wanted to have a warning in case anyone needed one. I have excuses and promises at the bottom.

* * *

Recovery was a slow and painful process for Darcy. It was painful precisely because it was so slow and he – who was used to all the minutes of all his days being filled with some sort of activity or other – itched at the confinement to his rooms, away from the running of his business, away from his friendship with Bingley and away from having the latitude to act on Elizabeth's behalf.

The family physician, Doctor Channing, had been uncharacteristically stern during the most recent of his periodic house-calls. An older man with a fatherly mien, he had summoned one of his sterner looks and told Darcy in the bluntest possible terms that he had been extremely ill and that if he ever wanted a return to his "absurdly busy life" – the doctor's words, not his – then he would need to be a very model patient in the recovery stages.

Channing had then cleverly enlisted the aid of Georgiana, who had commandeered all the servants in the household and Darcy was not permitted to do anything more taxing than sitting up in bed and reading.

The troubling thing was that he was often too tired to do even that. It was a dragging sort of fatigue that seemed to cloud his mind and pull at his eyelids, no matter how much he slept. In truth, attempting to read only gave him a headache as the concentration required to make sense of a whole page of text was the mental equivalent of a 10 kilometer run.

Moreover, he found the tedium of recovery to be broken only by chaotic dreams. It seemed he could not even think on a single subject for longer than a few moments before his weary mind would wander and the next thing he knew, he was waking up from an unintended slumber. The first several times that had happened, he had thought at first that he had slipped into a vision, for the sensations were much the same.

But if these were visions and not fever-dreams, they were nothing he could ever hope to make sense of and so he decided that it would be safest and sanest to just treat them as dreams. After all, he reasoned, it was highly unlikely that Bingley should have some sort of surgery to change his face to that of a pig and even less likely that Bingley would be able to convince him to change his face as well. The implications that he himself might choose a donkey's face were mildly disturbing, but after all, it was only a dream.

His brief times of alertness and lucidity were spent thinking of much pleasanter things, such as the things he might say and ask when next he and Elizabeth met, but his subconscious toyed with him even in this, bringing back his prior fever dream of Elizabeth telling him coldly that she wished to never see him again.

So when he Saw a vision of his darling Elizabeth coming to serious harm at the hands of an unknown assailant, Darcy found himself out of bed and half-dressed before it even occurred to him that it might have been only a dream.

Already dizzy and sweating from the efforts of standing and beginning to pull on the first articles of clothing he could lay his hands on, Darcy sank momentarily to the edge of his bed and considered what he knew.

Up to this point, all his dreams of Elizabeth had been the same one. It was something he had noticed happening before in times of sickness. It was as though his mind got caught in some sort of loop, always conjuring up some terrible dream that would keep him waking up what felt like every few minutes, never quite reaching the deep slumber that would be needed to aid in the healing process.

But this dream of Elizabeth had been a different one, if dream it was. She had been walking in a dark place. No, it had simply been dark outside. Nighttime, most likely. She worked nights now and Darcy had no idea of what her transportation situation was like. A point in favor of the whole thing having been a vision, Darcy thought grimly and began to struggle into his shirt, fumbling with the small buttons down the front.

There weren't many more details that Darcy could summon to mind about where or even _when_ she might have been. There were only horrific images of a man, attacking her from behind and of her struggle being brutally ended with a backhanded blow that had seemed to daze her into a state of near unconsciousness.

So there was nothing – _nothing!_ – to tell Darcy whether this was a nightmare or a vision. If a vision, there was nothing to tell him where Elizabeth might be or when it might happen. There was only a sick feeling in his stomach and a sense of fiercely protective urgency that could not be ignored.  
It didn't matter whether it was a dream or a vision, he decided as he stomped his foot into a shoe. If there was even the slightest chance that she might be harmed and it was in his power to prevent it, he would find her and follow her every movement without ceasing until he could be certain that she would be safe. His doctor and family and servants could not prevent his taking this action, either.

What was his own health in light of Elizabeth's safety? It was not even to be considered and he would gladly drive himself to the very brink and even over the very edge if only it would keep her from harm.

That thought gave him momentary pause as he realized just how much he already loved her. It was inexplicable, really. He scarcely knew her and much of what he _did_ know had come second-hand from her sister. They had been in each other's company for perhaps a total of six hours, all of which had been at least partially monitored by some third party. But on the basis of no more than the utter rightness and happiness of what he had seen in his visions of their life together, he knew he would be as willing to sacrifice himself for her as he would be for Georgiana.

Staggering as the thought was, he reminded himself wryly that they would not have that life together if he did not take care for both himself and her. There was time enough later to ponder over the implications of his hasty actions this night, whatever they might be.

After fastening both of his shoes, Darcy stood up again, fighting off another wave of sick dizziness, and paused only long enough to retrieve a coat. It was the middle of the night and would be cold outside and he was willing to take at least reasonable precautions about his own health if they would not interfere with his finding Elizabeth.

The small problem of how to go about finding her had been turning itself over somewhere in the back of his mind, so he was able to go without hesitation to the servants' quarters and quietly wake his driver.

Fitch looked briefly startled to see him, but Darcy had been prepared for any number of well-meaning but ill-timed questions or protestations and headed the other man off at the pass.  
"I'm sorry to wake you," he said, and it was true. "But I've an emergency and I don't have time for questions or debate. Please get ready as quickly as you can. I need to get to Blue Line."

"Yes, Sir," Fitch replied automatically, though his face was full of immediate conflicts about whether he ought to be doing as he was told. Tonight's activities flew in the face of Georgiana's orders, but he was a good servant and knew his place and so moved without any hesitation or impertinent questions to do as he was bid.

Darcy had resorted to pacing outside the back door by the time Fitch appeared, dressed in a less haphazard way than Darcy was but clearly not having wasted any time about niceties such as ordering his hair or washing up.

"Do you know where Blue Line is?" Darcy demanded, falling into step beside Fitch as they strode across the open ground to the small outbuilding where the automobile was kept. Gravel crunched under their feet, the cold sound of it seeming to be the only other noise in the whole city.

"I do, Sir," Fitch confirmed. "Be about a fifteen minute drive, Sir."

"Can you make it any faster?" Darcy demanded, lengthening his stride just slightly even though they were nearly at the outbuilding and Fitch was clearly trying not only to keep up but also to get ahead so that he could open doors for his employer.

"Dunno, Sir," Fitch admitted. "If you're not opposed to my driving a bit unsafe like, I could probably save you a few minutes."

"Do it," Darcy commanded, reaching the door first and pulling it open. He half turned to fix Fitch with a serious look, made all the more austere by the pale wash of moonlight across his already-pale face and the cloud of breath that curled up like a smoky mist around him.

They were both in the automobile in the next minute, Darcy opening the front passenger-side door for himself and sliding in before Fitch could even reach for the handle to open the back door. The driver tossed a wide-eyed glance of surprise at his employer, the departure from the social norm seemed to disconcert him more than anything else had this night.

Darcy ignored both the look and the unspoken surprise, adjusting the skirts of his coat around him.

"As quickly as you can," he reminded the driver and then turned the whole of his attention inward to the voice that seemed to echo the pulse of his heart in an endless chant:  
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurrryhurryhurry.

_Elizabeth_, he thought, _Hold on._ _I'm coming_.

* * *

**Author's Note, the second:**

First of all, I'm sorry that it's been... uh... a lot of months since I updated and that my last update implied I would be better about posting. I'm a filthy liar.

Secondly, I have some decent excuses that include a small amount of cross-country travel and a larger amount of house-buying and a moderate amount of working on an original novel. But the truth is that I am mostly lazy. And a filthy liar.

Thirdly, great thanks are due to my _secret beta_, who wishes to be anonymous and who knows exactly how to light a fire under me. She rocks.

Fourthly, this chapter is shorter as I threatened they would be the last time I posted. That's the bad news. I mean, other than the fact that I left you all where I left you with this one. The good news is that I have the next one well underway and hope to have it up by the end of the week or beginning of next. After that, I have no idea. I'm not great with the writing in advance thing. I'd promise to try to keep on top of this better, but I think we've already established that I'm a flthy liar.

But I'm a filthy liar who loves and appreciates everyone who takes the time to read and to comment!


	9. Chapter 9

Wednesday night rolled around and Elizabeth was once more at work. She was sweeping mail off the presort machine – again – and had been doing so for the whole week. The data entry component of her job was all but non-existent these days and she had heard rumors that there was a new modification that could be made to the sorting machines to completely eliminate the need for her Encoder position altogether.

This news was unwelcome, insofar as it meant that she would more than likely become a full time sweeper without even the brief but welcome respite that data entry brought. At the same time, it was unlikely that she would be dismissed, and that was more than many people could claim in the current economy.

She was on the range bins tonight, an active job near the front of the machine on the side opposite from the machine operator. She had finally learned what was meant by the designation of range and gained an understanding of why they were so busy and why the mail coming out of there would be sorted again.

The first pass – the one the mail was on now – was a rough sort. Some of the more populous Postal Codes would have their mail sorted out on this first pass, all the way up to the whole five digit sort. Much more of it would be filtered out by the range of the first three digits and end up going through a second pass, which would be a much finer sort and split amongst more sorting machines.  
Charlotte had explained that they paid less per each piece of mail the closer they could get it pre-sorted to its eventual destination.

As Elizabeth reached to grab an armload of mail and place it directly below the range bin into a tray that was always there for the purpose, her coworker, Maria, suddenly appeared at her elbow.  
"Collins wants to see you in his office," Maria shouted to be heard over the machine's racket. "I'm covering you."

Nodding in reply, Elizabeth hefted the now full tray and stepped aside to let Maria take over. The other woman whipped an empty tray into place and picked up right where Elizabeth had left off. The full tray was quickly disposed of into the appropriate mail cage and then Elizabeth made her way down the wide aisle at the head of the sorting machines to Mr. Collins' office.

As she walked, she wondered for what purpose he might have summoned her. It might be any number of things, from the monthly performance review that was about due to telling her she would have some data entry to do. Whatever it was, she hoped the encounter would be brief. The hope was a vain one as the man seemed to be overly enamored of the sound of his own voice and often went on pointless rambles about anything that came into his mind. Very frequently, he would drone on at length about the company and its ideals, as though the little sound bites of drivel like "delivering quality product in a timely fashion while also ensuring that the customer is treated in a respectful and professional manner" meant anything at all to the people sorting the mail.

Deadlines were the only thing that truly mattered in their jobs. Deadlines and accuracy.

And if he was not regurgitating corporate speak, Collins enjoyed sharing his mother's little tidbits of wisdom. He quoted his mother as though she were some religious figure everyone should revere, but from what Elizabeth could puzzle out the woman was nothing more than a petty tyrant and Collins the only person in the world who was willing to let himself be dominated by her.

Collins' door was open and he appeared to be waiting for her with some impatience, for he stood awkwardly by the doorway and beckoned her inside before he turned to take his own seat behind his desk.

"Have a seat," he commanded, gesturing rather grandly to the dilapidated chair to which all his visitors were subjected.

As she gingerly perched in the wobbly seat, Collins leaned forward in his chair and planted his elbows on the cluttered surface of his desk and then pursed his lips in an affectation of thoughtfulness before tapping them with a fat finger.

_You look like a toad_, Elizabeth thought, but was careful to keep her expression neutral.

"Elizabeth," Collins started at last, drawing out the first syllable of her name, "I have news for you. I don't wish to alarm you in any way, so before I tell you the news let me first hasten to assure you that your employment here at Blue Line is by no means insecure at the present moment."

She fought an eyeroll and instead nodded slightly. "All right," she agreed cautiously. "What's the news?"

He ignored her question, naturally.

"Blue Line values its employees," he lectured. "And someone like you who has learned the ropes and is dependable is of extra value to the owners. This is why your employment is secure." He gave her a simpering sort of smile, not showing any teeth, and then leaned back again as though he were relaxing expansively after successfully completing some hard-done task.

"However," he continued, now drawing out the entire word as if he were stalling for time to think of what he wanted to say next, "there have been some changes made and we can no longer keep you on as an Encoder."

He paused again and Elizabeth struggled to keep her face blank. None of this was coming as any sort of surprise, although that last line had sounded distinctly ominous. It was obvious that she wouldn't be able to keep a title for a job she no longer performed, but there were only two other positions in the mail room - Sweepers and Operators - and she only had training as a Sweeper and was currently spending most of her time in that position anyhow. Had he called her in to tell her she was going to be demoted and given a cut in pay but that she should be grateful to still be employed at all?

"Therefore," Collins was continuing to drone on, finally getting to the point of the conversation, "we are going to have you paired up with an Operator for the remainder of this week and all of the next."

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly in relief, trying to keep her expression composed when all she wanted to do was hop out of the decrepit chair and celebrate her reprieve from sweeping by performing a little jig of happiness.

When she opened her eyes again, Collins had paused, his mouth slightly open as though he were only about to grab another quick breath of air before continuing. When he didn't say anything further, Elizabeth guessed that perhaps she was meant to make some sort of reply.

"That's very good to hear," she managed, inwardly congratulating herself on how calm she sounded. As nothing in Collins' posture or look of general expectation changed she added, "I'm, er, very glad for the opportunity. Thank you."

It was the last that seemed to do the trick. Collins' face relaxed into another simpering smile and he shook his head just slightly as though he were making a show of refusing her thanks.

"You may finish out the night sweeping," he announced in magnanimous tones. "Tomorrow, be prepared to _learn_."

That was clearly a dismissal, so Elizabeth gratefully stood up, feeling the chair rock almost violently as her weight shifted. She muttered something that she hoped sounded vaguely grateful and then turned to leave.

As she walked back to her original position she found herself actually smiling broadly. Operating didn't appear to be all that difficult and it certainly seemed a more enviable position than Sweeping was. Operators stood at the head of the machines and were responsible mainly for throwing mail onto the feed chain. There would be less running up and down the machine all night and no awkward demands for stooping or stretching to retrieve the mail from bins. That she would be receiving an upward adjustment in pay was only the icing on the cake.

"Good news?" Maria called out, seeing her face.

"Yes," Elizabeth said, nodding to drive home the point. "I'm going to be an Operator!"

"That's great," Maria grinned back, seeming genuinely happy for Elizabeth's fortune. An Operator herself, Maria would know what a nice change of pace the promotion would be for Elizabeth. "Your range 157 cage is full if you want to stage it and grab a new one. I can keep covering here for a minute."

Elizabeth glanced at the cage that held all the mail coming out of bin 157 and it was, indeed, full.

"Thanks!" The cage was already properly labeled with a yellow tag that noted it was from machine number three and bin 157, so Elizabeth pulled the wheeled cage out of the line and maneuvered it out into the main aisle. She left it there long enough to grab another cage from the unused machine four and slide it back into place.

Using her teeth to break off a piece of heavy packing tape, Elizabeth affixed a fresh tag to the side of the new cage and pulled the black grease pencil from the pocket of her navy blue smock to write down the date and mailing information.

That done, she returned to the full cage and pulled it over to the large staging area that separated the sorting machines from those that the Inserting crew ran. Parking the cage neatly and making sure the yellow tag would be clearly visible, Elizabeth jogged back to continue sweeping.

Maria was off with a cheerful smile and wave, back to her duties on the staging floor. Once Insert supplied a full cage of mail to be sorted, it was Maria's job to look at mail and sort the trays out according to their postal codes. That way the machine Operators would be able to come to the staging area and pull more mail from the range they were sorting to run through for the first pass.

The whole process was complex on the surface, but Elizabeth found that with just the smallest idea of what each stage was, it became more and more clear to her why things were done in the way that they were. The fact that she was to become an Operator opened up a whole new range of possibility for her learning even more about the process. Perhaps she would someday be in a position like Maria's, who was always operating or staging or running the still-mysterious scanning area in the back end of the warehouse. Maria never had to sweep for an entire night, just in brief spells to relieve someone else as she had done for Elizabeth this night.

_I could really enjoy this job if I didn't have to sweep_, Elizabeth thought.

She was still thinking along those lines as the night ended and she was clocking out along with the rest of the people on her shift. The midnight shift was in the break room just down the hall, getting their marching orders for the hours they would cover before the morning shift would arrive at 8:00am. Blue Line didn't shut down except for on the weekends and there was always another deadline to be met.

Elizabeth pulled at the snaps on her smock and took the garment off. It was required that she wear one while out on the floor, something she didn't mind as it provided a handy place to store useful items such as extra rubber bands for bundling up the smaller handfuls of mail and her grease pencil. It also kept her own clothes from getting streaked with the various grime that she encountered on a nightly basis. Wadding it up, she unlocked her locker and stuffed it in on the top shelf and pulled her purse from the lower shelf.

As she always did, she took an extra moment to free her hair from the bun she wore while out on the floor. Long hair needed to be restrained close to the skull as the machines might easily scalp anyone who was unfortunate enough to get their hair caught in the fast-moving belts.

Sighing in relief at having her hair down, Elizabeth bade a goodnight to the few of her coworkers who were still milling about, trading jokes as they prepared to depart.

She caught Charlotte in the hall and shared her news from the night. "That's so great!" Charlotte replied, but her tone was far from matching her words.

"What is it?" Elizabeth demanded, laying her hand on Charlotte's arm and drawing the other woman into the large break room on the front of the building.

Charlotte shook her head in a small motion of negation. "It's just that I thought I would be the next one to get trained," she confessed. "Please don't mistake my disappointment for myself as resenting that you were chosen ahead of me. I understand that it wouldn't be fair to demote you. I had just hoped to get away from Sweeping all the time."

Elizabeth frowned. "I feel awful now," she said, meaning it.

"It wasn't your decision."

"No," Elizabeth admitted. "But it was thoughtless of me not to have realized how it would make you feel. I'm sorry."

Charlotte waved a hand in a tired way, dismissing it. "It's alright," she assured the other woman. "I'll be next. And maybe you'll be able to train me. That would be preferable to being trained by Lukas."

"Lukas," Elizabeth groaned in not-altogether-feigned dismay. "Do you really think Collins would do that to me?"

"He's trained everyone else in the time I've been here," Charlotte replied, not without sympathy. But the corners of her lips twitched up in a flicker of amusement.

"I'm going to head home and pray for Maria to be my teacher," Elizabeth decided. "And on the off chance that God isn't listening, I'll bring something to plug my nose."

Charlotte laughed then and Elizabeth couldn't help but join her, though her own amusement was more chagrined. Lukas might have many fine qualities as an employee or even a person, but if he did, no one else on the shift seemed to know what those were. Wrinkled noses and hands waved dramatically in front of faces were the only comment needed for someone who seemed never to bathe.

"Did I ever tell you about the time we decided to have a secret gift exchange?" Charlotte asked conversationally as they finished collecting their lunch pails and headed towards the exit.

"No," Elizabeth replied, baffled as to why Charlotte might be bringing the topic up at all.

"He's gone now, but a Sweeper named James drew Lukas' name. He bragged for a solid week about how he was going to give Lukas a gift that would render him more palatable to everyone. And, sure enough, when we did the exchange there was an enormous basket filled to the brim with every kind of toiletry you could think of."

"What did Lukas think of that?" Elizabeth asked, laughing at the thought.

Charlotte shrugged. They were outside now and paused in the light of the building to finish their conversation as they needed to move in opposite directions in order to get home. "He never said anything. But a few months later we had a going-away party for one of the higher-ups and, among the gifts I saw on the table, was that very same basket of toiletries. Completely untouched."

"No!" Elizabeth gasped, laughing.

"It's true," Charlotte assured her solemnly, before chuckling herself.

"That's horrible," Elizabeth commented around her last sniggers. "And if I have to stick around Lukas the rest of the week, I'll be terribly distraught."

"I hope for your sake that you don't have to. But I'm going to hope that from home, if you don't mind. It's so cold out!"

"It is," Elizabeth agreed, taking a backwards step in the direction she needed to go. "Good night, Charlotte."

The other woman echoed back the valediction and Elizabeth turned to go. She had a short walk to reach the main street where the public coach would stop and she moved briskly, both to make sure she was at the stop before the coach would come and go and to ward off the chill of the night through the exertion of movement.

As she moved down the street, an automobile swung around a corner up ahead, the headlights flashing quickly across her face, momentarily blinding her. She paused in her step, blinking away the afterimages burned into her vision and then felt her heart clench when she heard the sound of the automobile door closing.

She whirled, instantly on her guard. Blue Line was hardly in a rough part of town, but the streets were empty and her situation could so easily become precarious if the wrong sort of person happened to cross her path.

But when she turned to see what might be coming at her, Elizabeth felt a shock go through her.  
"And just what on earth are you doing here?" she snapped, immediately incensed at the mere sight of Mr. Darcy.

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began to stomp down the street. But words were boiling so close to the surface that she spun back around after only a step or two. Mr. Darcy was standing in the same place, his arm half-raised as though he were about to summon her back to him.

"You have some nerve," Elizabeth seethed, pointing a finger that was shaking with the force of her emotion.

She got no further, however, before Darcy took a small step towards her and then sank wordlessly to the ground, landing in a sprawling heap on the cold pavement without so much as an arm extended to save himself.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I know. I kept a promise. I'm as shocked as anyone.

Question for you all: When I talk about Elizabeth's work, do you want to fall asleep or do you like the detail? I personally enjoy it when I get to read about someone performing a job I've never done, particularly if you can tell the author has researched the crap out of it or perhaps even done it themselves. But my beta says such things make her snore. So I'm asking you guys because more opinions than just two would be very nice.

Much love and many thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. I love hearing from you!


	10. Chapter 10

The first sensation that penetrated Darcy's consciousness was that of being half on fire and half frozen. The split was curious in that most of the frozen areas were relegated to the anterior part of his body, save for his face which seemed to be divided neatly in half, with only the right side subject to the strange chill.

He dimly wondered whether he had had a stroke and then was instantly distracted with the question of whether a stroke victim would think to wonder if he had had a stroke.

No sooner had these thoughts flitted through his mind as though they were butterflies dancing on the wind - things to notice and perhaps to even meditate on, but too intangible to really get a proper grasp on them - than he was subjected to a second sensation.

This was, if anything, even more unpleasant than the freezing and burning, for it seemed as though he were being moved about without his volition and in a halting, sickening motion.

A faint grunt from somewhere nearby caught at his attention and he fixed his mind on the sound in order to distract himself from the roiling of his unsettled gut. Not a sound he normally associated with the fairer sex, he nevertheless thought it had a feminine quality to it.

In the next moment, it seemed as though every sound and sensation that might have assaulted him in the past several moments all caught up with a rush. There were hands on him, more than could be accounted for properly without opening his eyes. And there were voices, both coming from directly above him, one low and irritated and the other washed with concern. The female voice was the irritated one. The other was male and possessed a coarse accent.

In the meantime, the coldness had seemed to shift mainly to his posterior aspect, allowing the burning sensations there to cool somewhat and then retreat. He felt a violent shiver tear through him and somewhere in the bunching and tension of his muscles, he found himself opening his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Fitch, who was hovering over him with concern stamped large across his homely face. As Fitch took in Darcy's open eyes, the other man's eyebrows sprang upward from the concerned furrow that had formed a small ridge on his forehead.

"Sir," Fitch was babbling immediately. "Are you hurt? Can you stand?"

The questions went mostly unheard as Darcy finished taking in his surroundings. The sky above him was dark, but a street light illuminated the rough brick facade of a nearby building as well as the patch of ground on which Darcy lay supine. Nearby, but obscured by the deep shadows of the night, was a woman. Darcy knew instinctively that it was Elizabeth.

And on seeing her form, he remembered where he was and why he was there.

Galvanized by a fresh rush of adrenaline, Darcy struggled to a sitting position, disregarding his driver's attempts to either assist or hinder. Fitch was speaking, but the words were only a meaningless sound his Darcy's ears.

"Elizabeth," Darcy found himself saying, his voice urgent, "are you well?"

She seemed to start back in surprise at being so addressed, and Darcy felt rather than saw her peer curiously back at him.

"I think you're the one who should be answering that question," she replied, and there was still that sharp undercurrent of irritation in her voice. "I'm not even certain what you're doing here, but you've just fainted on the sidewalk."

"I'm fine," Darcy started to reply brusquely, but then stopped, hearing his tone and feeling another wave of dizziness roll over him.

"I can see that," Elizabeth answered, her voice so dry and brittle it was a wonder the words themselves didn't break.

"We need to get you back home," Fitch interjected now, his voice firm with uncharacteristic authority. "Can you help me get him in the back?"

Elizabeth sighed audibly, but acquiesced immediately.

She moved forward to assist Fitch, who was already taking hold of Darcy by the arm with the clear intent to drag him to his feet.

Deeply embarrassed to be treated like an invalid in the presence of Elizabeth, Darcy pulled sharply away from Fitch and assumed what he hoped was a neutral facial expression. "I can stand," he objected stiffly.

Keenly aware as he was of Elizabeth at all times, Darcy couldn't help but catch the frown that flickered onto her face as he struggled to his feet under his own power. By the time he had gained his feet, feeling as though he were swaying in a breeze that affected only him, the frown was gone, replaced by a look he could only label as 'calculating.'

Fitch had moved to the parked automobile sometime during Darcy's struggle to appear unaffected by the sheer amount of effort it had taken to achieve his standing position and the driver now held the back door open, looking ready to either hand Darcy in if he cooperated or to stuff him in by main force if he did not.

"I fear we have delayed you," Darcy addressed Elizabeth again, ignoring Fitch. He still felt uneasy about allowing Elizabeth to wander down the dark streets wholly unattended and hoped that she would accept his forthcoming offer.

She forestalled him by checking her watch quickly. "I can still make my coach if I hurry."

With that announcement, she began walking.

Flabbergasted as he was by the absolute lack of polite courtesies, Darcy actually allowed her to get several paces away before he collected himself enough to call after her to stop.

"Please," he said, taking a half-step in her direction, feeling a curious sense of _déjà vu_as he did so. Of course, he realized a second later. These were the positions they had held just before he had apparently fainted. He felt it was entirely all too possible that he might repeat that part of the performance as well.

She halted at the sound of his voice but didn't immediately turn around.

"Please allow me to at least give you a ride home," he pleaded. "It's entirely my fault that you were delayed at all." _And_, he added mentally, _this way I will not only have a chance to speak with you in private, I will also be assured of your safety._

At last, she turned slightly back, giving him a look over her shoulder that sent a jolt of raw desire straight through him. "Thank you for your consideration," she said distinctly. "But no. I'll be more comfortable on the coach."

She began walking away again, making Darcy frantic with fear for her continued safety.

"I really must insist," he called, moving forward again, completely ignoring how every step threatened to be his last one. Well, he would faint again if that would call her back to the relative safety of his presence. Even if he would be thoroughly useless if any strange men appeared, Fitch would at least alert and able to defend them both if it were needed.

Elizabeth halted again and then turned with precise deliberation. Her steps back in his direction were too measured and too deliberate for him to mistake her return to his side as acceptance of his offered ride.

With each step she took towards him, Darcy could almost feel pieces of a puzzle clicking into place and forming a picture to which he had previously been blind. Only minutes ago, surprised to see him, Elizabeth had seemed instantly and comprehensively furious. Her whole attitude towards him was one of distaste. Her refusal to speak with him on personal topics, the barbed smiles she had thrown at him when Caroline hung on his arm, the grudging help she offered to him in his weakness - they were all glaringly obvious signs now that he could find no trace of polite civility on her face as she marched towards him.

It didn't take much thought for Darcy to determine why she might be so furious with him, for that too was obvious without the optimistic shine that had glossed over his every interaction with her.

So much for his vaunted Second Sight, Darcy thought bitterly as Elizabeth took her last measured step, coming to a stop only a meter or so away from him. What good was his ability to see flickers of his future if he could not trust his own current views and interpretations of what was occurring in the here and now?

"Elizabeth," he said lamely, unable to continue for a lack of things to say and in instinctive silence to the furious flash of her eyes.

"Miss Bennet," she corrected.

He flushed and knew it was not due to fever. "Miss Bennet," he echoed, "I can see you are furious with me, but please. It's late and unsafe. You may yell at me all you like if only you will permit me to see you home."

His mention of the time had her frowning and checking her watch again. "I couldn't make it to the coach now if I wanted to," she muttered bitterly.

"Then will you come?" He motioned back to his automobile where Fitch stood openly gawking, having not moved more than a pace or two from his position by the back door.

"I'd rather walk," she told him bluntly.

"If walking is a preferable alternative to being in my company, I will remain here and wait for Fitch to deliver you home."

That offer startled her, he could tell. She gawked at him for a moment in surprise and then seemed to soften just slightly.

"I cannot allow that." She shook her head to punctuate the point, her glossy locks waving in an enticing fashion with the movement. "Anyone can see you're horribly ill."

Battling a faint flicker of hope that she actually cared about his well-being, Darcy risked a small step forward. "I will not permit you to risk yourself in any way when it is I who has behaved abominably."

He felt he could hear his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest as she seemed to consider the situation. Her eyes darted past him to rest briefly on his automobile and she let loose with another audible sigh, this one resigned.

"Very well."

Then she was moving past him, not waiting for an answer or the least bit interested in seeing the look of relief that plastered itself all over his face. He turned to follow, much more slowly than she moved, giving Fitch the honor of helping her into the back seat.

As she stepped gracefully into the automobile's interior, Darcy finally felt the knot of fear and tension that had driven him out of his bed and into the coldness of the night dissolve. With a prayer of gratitude that she was safe from the threat that had stalked her this night and that he, at least, would have the knowledge of it and that he had been able to be the instrument of her salvation, he approached and bent just low enough to see into the back of the vehicle.

"Thank you, Miss Bennet, for humoring me," he said softly to her dark profile. Then he straightened, closed the door gently and allowed Fitch to pull the front door open for him again.

"Thank you, Fitch," he said quietly as he reclaimed the front seat. "Please see the lady home first."

"Sir," Fitch acknowledged, touching the rim of a cap that wasn't there.

Settling into the seat, Dacy couldn't help but fix his eyes on the rear-view mirror. Elizabeth was still lost to the shadows, but as Fitch began to navigate through the deserted nighttime streets, the occasional bit of illumination washed over her face, revealing brief glimpses of her expressions to his unwavering gaze. Thus, he saw as confusion gave way to anger before she assumed a thoughtful look.

When they pulled to a stop in front of her building, the location of which was remembered from the evening only a few nights and lifetime of hope ago, Darcy hurried to open her door and assist her out. As he did so, a desire to walk her up to her flat and to know which one exactly was hers nearly overcame him. Indecision warred within him as a wish to be sensitive her feelings for just once battled against the need he felt to see her safe.

The sidewalk in front of her building was well-lit and she looked up at him with a mixture of emotions in her rich, dark eyes. A small line cut a horizontal path across her forehead and he had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from trying to smooth it away with a tender sweep of his thumb.

"You didn't let me yell at you," she accused, her voice neither entirely serious nor playful.

"Forgive me," he found himself replying automatically. He bent his head in a vague approximation of a very shallow bow. "I had thought you would value the reprieve from my more immediate presence."

She frowned a little more deeply at his rejoinder but continued to stare up into his face, troubled eyes searching over his countenance. He bore the scrutiny with sober grace, hoping that she would be able to see in the planes and structure of his visage all that his heart felt but that his tongue could not articulate.

And he looked at her with all the longing and adoration that he felt, allowing the emotions to shine as nakedly in his eyes as he knew how to reveal. Even knowing that she despised him and would likely as soon break his heart as anything, he felt a certain peace in being laid so bare before her.

"I do _not_understand you," she murmured at last, before hastily breaking eye contact as though embarrassed to have spoken the thought aloud.

Just like that, the spell that had seemed to hold them both in thrall with each other was broken and she moved towards the door of her building.

He watched her go, suddenly feeling the weight of his illness and weariness pressing down upon him. But other than tracking her with his eyes, greedily drinking in the sight of her while he still could, he made no movement to leave. He would be back home and relegated to his bed soon enough; Georgiana would see him forcibly restrained when she heard of this night's work.

Seeming to sense his eyes upon her, Elizabeth paused at the door and looked back over her shoulder again. "Thank you for the ride."

As if the words granted him permission to finally speak, Darcy found himself calling after her for the third time that night. "Miss Bennet?"

She turned more fully, wrapped in an air of expectation as she waited for him to continue.

"You may still yell at me as much as you wish," he offered. "At any time convenient to you."

To his very great surprise, those words seemed to inspire a genuine smile on her face - the first one he had seen, he realized, since they had first met in his offices. So it was well that she disappeared into the building without another word, for all the breath seemed to have been knocked straight out of him.

He moved in a near daze to shut the back door and slide once more into the front seat of the automobile. Fitch seemed to catch his mood and remained blessedly silent on the drive home. As they drove and up through the last minutes of Darcy's returning to his chambers to disrobe and to sleep away what was left of the small hours of the morning, his mind was focused for the first time in days.

He had no idea how to go about it, but he was determined to make reparations and to begin anew with Elizabeth.

* * *

**A/N**: /pats self on back in an excessively congratulatory fashion.

I mean, uh... Thanks to my fabulous beta for assaulting me often with demands for MOAR Darcy and for going easy on me on this particular chapter.

Thanks also to everyone who provided feedback regarding my question on the last chapter. I'm going to attempt to stike a compromise in future chapters between adding details about her work (because it **will** be pertinent) but not overwhelming you all with minute details.

No questions this time! I'm just going to get back to admiring my own version of Darcy because I think he's pretty ADORBS. Wait. Do you think he's adorbs? I need to know that much.

Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

"He's in love with you," Charlotte said bluntly, pointing a finger across the table at Elizabeth as if to clarify who she meant. They were the only two people at the table, but Elizabeth still felt her cheeks heat and she swatted at Charlotte's accusing digit.

"Don't say that!" she hissed. "He is not!"

Charlotte chuckled but desisted in pointing at her friend long enough to pick up her sandwich and take a bite. She chewed, looking thoughtful, and then set it down as she swallowed. Hands free once more, she extended a finger again, but this time to point upwards in the gesture for the number one.

"First, he shows up in the middle of the night on a street near your workplace." She darted a look around the room in elaborate amazement, as though Darcy were likely to be found peering out from behind a potted plant. "Does he, perhaps, have a business interest nearby that would bring him to this part of town at such an hour?"

"How would I know what that man does or why he does it?" Elizabeth grumbled, but Charlotte was clearly not about to pay her any attention.

"Second," the other woman put up another finger, "you said he showed up in a place and at a time where he has no business being and was so ill that he actually fainted. But according to you, his first words were to ask if _you _were well."

"Even I am willing to admit that he may not have actually been raised by a pack of wolves and might be capable of politeness."

Charlotte continued to ignore Elizabeth's grumbling and put up a third finger, shaking the digits slightly as though in emphasis. "Third, he absolutely wouldn't hear of you making your way home without his assistance."

"He was _delirious_, Char," Elizabeth objected. "He probably thought he was rescuing the Marquis of Carabas."

Charlotte rolled her eyes and continued, nothing deterred by her friend's surly rejoinders. "_Fourth_. He offered to let you yell at him as much as you wanted."

Sitting back with a triumphant grin, Charlotte gave her friend a level look. "I wasn't even _there_, and I can see he is completely in love with you."

"Well, he has an idiotic way of showing it even if it is true," Elizabeth shot back. She held up her own fingers as she made her points of rebuttal. "One, he fires me after knowing me for one whole minute. Two, he has some sort of bizarre relationship with Bingley's frightful sister. Three, his ability to converse with anyone who is not his monetary equal is abysmal, unless he happens to be putting them down and then he's just _brilliant_at it. And four, he broke up Jane and Bingley!

"Whatever he might have been doing last night and however concerned he might have appeared for me in the midst of his illness, it isn't enough to counter all the other, very negative interactions I've had with him."

"Tell me again about the end of the night," Charlotte demanded, leaning forward and propping her chin in her hands. "Because that was probably the most romantic thing I'll ever hear in my whole life."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head, refusing to try again to put the end of the previous night's strange encounter into words.

When Darcy had put her into the back of his automobile and shut the door, she had at first been concerned that he was actually going to wait there on the sidewalk until his driver could take her home and return for him. Much as she disliked him, it wasn't in her to be that heartless towards a man who was so obviously ill.

But then he had settled himself in the driver's compartment and they had departed. She had scarcely known what to think or how to feel, she was so off-balance from the swift succession of emotions she had experienced. There had first been anger at seeing him, then actual fright when he had passed out, followed by irritation at his intrusion on her life causing her to be late for her coach home and a wild impatience at his insistence on taking her there himself. Underneath it all had been a strange tenderness towards him that had suffused the whole encounter.

She couldn't begin to fathom what might have brought him to her at such an hour, disheveled and haggard from his sick bed. Nor could she decide upon any explanation for his insistence on seeing her home safely. Why should he care at all? Why should he even think of it? And how had he known where she would be? She couldn't recall having ever told him where she worked.

Jane might have told him and probably had, but Elizabeth would not for the whole world mention any part of last night to her still-heartbroken older sister.

No matter how much she craved Jane's opinion on that last, poignant exchange in front of her building.

He had helped her out of the back of his automobile, and the light from the streetlamp had been enough for her to see him quite clearly. He looked almost vulnerable, she thought, his face covered with dark stubble and his hair an untidy riot of dark curls atop his head. She would never have thought it possible for someone as fastidious as he was to look so unkempt in public, even if it were the middle of the night and in less savory parts of town than what he was used to.

Still struggling to make sense of something that would probably forever be a mystery to her, she had looked at him for a long moment before opening her mouth to thank him for the ride. It was the polite thing to do, even if he had caused her to need the assistance in the first place.

To her chagrin, it was not a simple thank you that came from her lips. "You didn't let me yell at you," she had stated, as though that was what had been on her mind for the whole ride home.

"Forgive me," he had said immediately. "I had thought you would value the reprieve from my more immediate presence." The words, given along with a minute bow, had made her frown at his stiff formality. It was not the sort of thing she would have expected from a man who had only minutes before been so almost wild in the uncharacteristically unreserved manner he had accosted her and all but demanded she accept his charity.

Elizabeth stared at him in open puzzlement for some time before she even realized that she was staring and rather rudely. Whether it was illness or tiredness or simple good grace, Darcy bore her inspection without seeming at all put off by her. If anything, there was a certain look in his eye that seemed almost too warm given their tumultuous relationship.

If she were being honest with herself, Elizabeth would admit that the idea that Charlotte was correct was a frightening one. She had turned from the warmth of his gaze last night in an attempt to deny it, and having slept on it, was all but convinced that everything that had made the encounter so strange was entirely due to Darcy's illness.

Well, and she had told him she didn't understand him and had thanked him for the ride as she had originally intended to do. He had called her Miss Bennet again, as she had demanded he do earlier in the evening, and she had been shocked to find that she actually would have preferred to hear him speak her name again in that low and raspy voice that was a result of his illness.

But his final words to her for the night had been nearly as good as or perhaps even better than the syllables of her name.

"You may still yell at me as much and as loudly as you wish," he had offered. "At any time convenient to you."

The words, the tone and the manner had all been so entirely the sort of snobby behavior she felt she could expect from Darcy. But there had been an underlying mixture of humor and genuine feeling. A dangerous, heady combination she thought, and something that she hadn't even attempted to tell Charlotte about or to reproduce in her own tone when sharing the strange story with her friend.

She hadn't been able to help the smile that had come as a response to those words and that hint of self-deprecation. Not trusting herself to not say something else she didn't intend to, she had fumbled for the handle and let herself into the building, not taking her eyes off Darcy until she was safely inside.

The image of him staring after her with his ashen face, lightly sheened with sweat, a study of hopefulness and regard and naked longing was something she couldn't be sure she hadn't imagined.

"What's that frown about?" Charlotte asked, pulling her back out of her musings.

"I really do think he was far too ill to be out of bed," Elizabeth replied. "And I think that the whole bizarre sequence of events had more to do with him being out of his mind with fever than it did any emotion he may or may not have towards me."

"You sound like you're worried about him."

"I'm not sure I'm _worried _about him," she flapped the notion away with a few waves of her hand. "Although, wouldn't I be a terrible person not to be? I can dislike him and still not want him to do something reckless with his health. I don't want him to die as a result of some misguided notion of chivalry towards me."

Charlotte smirked. "Now that is not the Elizabeth that I first met who was all too willing to crush his skull with her bare hands. You've softened towards him. You _like_him."

"No," Elizabeth shook her head. "He might have any number of redeeming qualities and I can and will acknowledge that, but I will never like him. Not when he is at fault for Jane's current state of unhappiness. Anyone who could hurt someone as sweet as my sister is not a person I could hold in high regard."

"Remind me how that is Darcy's fault," Charlotte demanded. "Because all I remember you telling me is that Bingley told your sister that he didn't want to be used as a way of getting at his friends."

"That's right."

"So, Bingley didn't mention Darcy at all? And you've come to the conclusion that Darcy is still somehow the villain in this piece?"

"It's not a piece of drama," Elizabeth shot back. "It's my sister. And yes, of course it has to be Darcy. Jane hasn't _me_t any of Bingley's other friends, let alone spent time trying to make conversation with them."

Charlotte hummed in a considering fashion. "It still doesn't really tell a complete story," she mused. "I mean, what does that even mean? 'Get at my friends.' It seems pretty open for interpretation to me. It might have very little to do with Darcy and everything to do with Bingley having second thoughts and looking for an easy way out."

"You never saw Jane and Bingley together," Elizabeth replied, shaking her head definitively. "They were so perfect together and each one so devoted to the other that it almost made me sad to see it. I don't think I could ever find someone to look at the way those two looked at each other."

"But Bingley ended it."

"Yes, and Bingley defers to Darcy in all of his big business decisions. He's used to listening to him. Darcy probably said something snooty about Jane being a social climber - even though she could never be even a little bit mercenary - and then Bingley probably second-guessed the whole thing."

Charlotte wrinkled her nose and then leaned forward again, putting her hand on the table between them. "Even if that's _exactl_y what happened, I still think it sounds like Bingley is to blame for this separation. Unless Darcy has some way of compelling him to do whatever he wants, it was Bingley who decided to cut Jane out. And if Bingley is so weak-minded as to go along with whatever his friend says, well... Do you really want Jane to be with a man like that?"

"Of course not. But she loved him and she's hurting and I hate to see her suffer."

"Who's suffering?" A new voice broke into the conversation, and the women both glanced up sharply to see that they had been joined by one of the newest hires on the shift.

"Hello, George," Charlotte greeted the young man, giving him a lazy smile as he took a seat at the table without invitation. "Since we're all here and not out having fun, I'd say we're all suffering."

Elizabeth cast a quick smile at her friend, glad that the other woman had so quickly and deftly turned the conversation away from the personal. It wasn't that she disliked George Wickham, but rather that she had only spoken with him a handful of times in the past few weeks since he had been hired on and it had always been only about work-related topics. Still, he seemed nice enough and was cute in an unpolished sort of fashion, so she smiled and added, "I think _I'm_suffering most of all since I got stuck training with Lukas for the rest of the week."

George grimaced, but there was a wry smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "Tough break. But at least you don't have to spend your nights dashing madly to and fro anymore."

Elizabeth laughed again, though the conversation hardly called for it. "I doubt I am entirely off the hook in that regard. Besides, throwing mail is a lot more complicated than it looks."

"Just don't think about it," Charlotte advised. "I've tried it a time or two on slower nights with good operators and the trick seems to be to really flick your wrists and to not concentrate too hard."

"Not thinking," Elizabeth echoed. "Right. I can do that."

The lunch hour came to an end soon after and Elizabeth returned to work and the turmoil of her private thoughts as she attempted to learn everything that being an Operator would entail. If she had been correct about nothing else, Charlotte had certainly given good advice on the topic of throwing the mail - as she distractedly mulled over the whole course of her relationship with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was able to master the skill.

But on the topic of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth felt more and more certain as the night wore on that her friend was incorrect in her assessment. It was only natural, seeing as how she had never met the man, and nor was she likely to do so. A tale told of a sick man coming to offer a safe ride home to a female acquaintance might sound romantic on the face of it. It would not, however, be something that was likely to happen again. Whatever fluke of fevered thinking had brought him her way the night before, he was certain to leave her to her own commute for the remainder of her nights.

Still, as she stepped into the cold darkness of the winter night, Elizabeth couldn't help but hope that he would come again. She told herself it was because she wanted a chance to redo the previous night and to say all that she meant to say to him and to demand what was he thinking about to make the gesture in the first place. And when her solitary trudge through the deserted streets proved to be free of any sightings of so much as his automobile, she told herself that she wasn't disappointed in anything except that she had missed an opportunity to defend her sister.

* * *

**A/N:** I know. I am the worst person ever. If you're still here, if you're still reading, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I'll try to do better.


	12. Chapter 12

It seemed to take an age before Darcy was at last well enough to resume his normal life. After his little late-night escapade he had, as he assumed he would, incurred the wrath of Georgiana, such as it was. Just thinking of his delicate and reserved sister taking such a fierce tack with him was enough to make him smile, even through the remainder of the bed rest imposed on him by not only the doctor and Georgiana herself, but also by the urgent demands of his own body.

It had been a very bad illness indeed, and he was given to understand in no uncertain terms that he had been risking his very health to have been out in the cold night air when his lungs had been labored for breath as much as they had already been.

Once Georgiana had learned from the doctor that Darcy would recover and once she had satisfied herself by yelling at him for a solid three minutes, she had demanded, "Why would you do something so blatantly irresponsible anyway?"

He had known she would ask. Of course she would. They loved each other and each would be willing to protect the other from anything, even if it was from their own bouts of recklessness and stupidity.

So he had been composed as he sipped at the glass of juice he had been permitted and was able to answer in a steady voice. "It was for a woman."

He was watching her from the corner of his eye, so he saw her fair brows shoot straight up in surprise.

"A woman? Who?"

An odd warmth had filled his chest as he at last permitted himself to tell someone of his feelings for Elizabeth. "Her name is Elizabeth Bennet. She is the younger sister of Jane Marchrend, the woman Charles is seeing."

"The women you asked about," Georgiana said instantly, finally understanding the cryptic message that Mr. Bingley had passed to her brother through her. "That's why you asked after them. But if they were both well, why did you go out? And in the middle of the night!"

Darcy chuckled. "Calm down, my ferocious little sister. I am well aware of my transgressions and won't require another of your lectures just yet. But to answer your question, I was aware that Miss Bennet was going to be in an unsafe part of town and I was concerned for her well being. I simply felt the need to see she was escorted home safely, and that is what I did."

As he suspected she might, Georgiana fixed on his motivations rather than on how he had come by such knowledge. "But if she were just anyone, you might have sent Fitch without you," she observed shrewdly.

Darcy sipped at his juice again, still watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was grinning almost maniacally as she left her place in the chair at his bedside and moved to sit on his mattress near his feet. She peered into his face as though all the secrets of the world might be written there, searching his eyes for the answer to the question she hadn't quite managed to ask.

"You love her. Or, well, you at least _like _her a great deal."

"I hope to marry her someday," Darcy told her honestly. There was no point in his hiding it from his own sister. "If only she will have me."

"Of course she will. She would be a fool to turn you down!" Georgiana was swift in coming to his defense and he smiled fondly at her.

"Well, we shall see," was all he said and shortly thereafter he had returned to solitary rest, or tried to. Actual sleep eluded him, as his mind spun in a whirl of thoughts.

Part of him had wanted to lay out the whole miserable tale to his sister and to hear her thoughts on the matter. She knew him better than anyone else in the world, but she did not love him to the point of being blind to his faults. In addition, she did not know about his Second Sight, and in truth, the sensation of not knowing how things would turn out between himself and Elizabeth was something of a novel one for him.

Most of his life had been shaped by his Second Sight, with all of his major business decisions having been informed by his strange gift. He had never had cause to doubt a favorable outcome before now, but he supposed that just because his business plans had always been well executed didn't guarantee him a happy result when the heart and mind of a person entirely out of his control were thrown into the mix.

In business, it had been a matter of knowing when and how much to invest. With Elizabeth, his vision might have been nothing more than a happy possibility if only he didn't manage to bungle the whole affair. And he was very much afraid that he had somehow made Elizabeth hate him.

His letting her go from his employment right after meeting her was his first and probably biggest mistake. The fact was so glaringly obvious that he wanted to somehow go back in time and throttle himself for ever assuming she would have taken such a thing well. What had he thought at the time? The she understood that he was going to marry her someday and that he wished to protect her from the vicious gossip of society?

He didn't know how he had reached such a laughable conclusion, let alone how he had managed to persuade himself to believe it.

To be entirely truthful, he hadn't bothered to think all that much about it at the time. But seeing the level to which she had descended just to earn a wage cast everything in a new and sober light. He was so accustomed to running his empire and having all the advantages of wealth and privilege that he had never stopped to consider that she might have been depending on that job and that paycheck just to survive and keep a roof over her head.

He had been so blithe and cavalier in his treatment of her that day, casually destroying her livelihood without the slightest attention paid to the question of what she might do after. Granted, he had offered to place her elsewhere in his company, but how might that have sounded to her, not knowing all the details behind his decision? Trying to put himself into her shoes, he realized that his pride would have been stung beyond measure had he been turned away without reason or warning from a job he had not been given the opportunity to perform.

Perhaps that vision of his had blinded him with a joyous haze of unreal expectations. It was as though he had truly seen and understood a part of Elizabeth for the first time last night, and the seeing had caused the optimistic shine to fade from even his memories of their interactions.

He now considered himself to be the most willfully deluded sort of fool and could only look back with shame on his actions and his interpretation of her response to him. She was civil, nothing more, and hadn't even been _that _at the outset of their interaction last night. But if she had been uncivil, he had deserved it and worse. Given the way he had acted towards her thus far, he had to admit that she had shown a great deal of maturity and restraint in being as kind to him as she had been.

Yes, and wouldn't that be just the most damning sort of inscription to have on the metaphorical tombstone of their failed relationship? "Could have been the love of your life, instead was forced to show maturity and restraint towards you. She didn't kill you, but you killed the romance."

He had to admit that it lacked a certain something in pithiness, but the general observation rang overwhelmingly true.

Eventually, Darcy decided that he could either fret endlessly about whether or not he had managed to forever ruin his chances to be with Elizabeth, or he could assume he still had a chance to make reparations and then to woo her. Of the two options, the latter was decidedly more attractive if not rather more daunting.

He had never had to try with a woman before, having rather disdained most of the ladies of his acquaintance who had set their caps at him and his fortune. He was on distantly friendly terms with several other women, all of whom were either married or his elders or both. Aside from watching Bingley carry out his succession of brief romances, Darcy hadn't had much exposure to the art or form of lovemaking*, nor had he ever thought to pay attention.

While a bachelor's life certainly had never been his dearest wish or highest ideal, he had never given much thought to how he might change from a single to a married status, instead rather assuming that eventually he would come across some society lady who wasn't entirely objectionable but who would still accept him for his wealth and position more than succumb to the fiercely tender wooing of his soul.

Groaning at his ignorance and his utter inability to determine a starting point for his campaign to win Elizabeth's heart, he turned his attention instead to how he might go about securing her physical safety and comfort. He thought he had gotten enough of her true measure the previous night to know that she would never welcome open interference from him on the issue. She had a streak of independence that was so wide he wasn't certain how he had missed it in his early assessment of her character. More future happiness-induced blindness, no doubt. The material point, he was sure, was that he couldn't task a driver to seeing her safely to and from her workplace each night.

His second thought, and one he discarded even more swiftly than the first, was that perhaps he could have a manservant follow her discreetly. However, the best thing of all would be to get her working during normal daytime hours and doing something more ladylike. Perhaps he could arrange for a business associate to hire her into his offices as a secretary. She had been qualified enough to do so for Darcy; surely her ability would stand up to the demands of anyone else he knew.

But again, the problem there was that such a maneuver would be all too obvious. Unless she were to happen to see and apply to such a position on her own - and there was nothing to indicate that she was even looking to move away from her current situation - it would have his fingerprints all over it.

If only she had taken him up on his original offer to work elsewhere in his business interests so that he could have ultimate oversight over her work situation while he went about the business of courting her!

There was a thought, and one that had him sitting up as quickly as his sore and weary body would permit. Blue Line was possibly a profitable avenue for business and Darcy was always looking to expand into new areas. Too many businessmen were afraid to expand into unknown quarters, but even if Blue Line were the worst sort of sinkhole for cash, Darcy would consider it a sound investment if only he could have the peace of mind of knowing that Elizabeth was his responsibility.

If he were to research into the company and make an offer to purchase it outright, perhaps the owner would sell to him. He could arrange it all secretly, going through solicitors and banks and using whatever management existed already to create a new position that would, in one fell stroke, grant Elizabeth safety, better pay and more genteel labor.

A man of action when he saw his way clear, Darcy tugged on the bell-pull and informed the servant who arrived to answer his call that he required the presence of his solicitor as soon as that man could be summoned.

Feeling pleased with his plan, Darcy actually managed to settle into a light doze as he awaited the arrival of Mr. Smyth.

* * *

It was a full week before Doctor Channing pronounced Darcy well enough to leave his bedchamber and to make a partial return to his business affairs.

"I would much rather you didn't go in at all," the doctor had said, looking sternly at his rather willful patient. "But of course you will hear of no such thing, and I am fully aware of it. You had better not go in above two or three times a week and you must keep your hours to a reasonable minimum."

Darcy assured the doctor that he would do his best to take it easy until he felt all his old strength had been rebuilt but the man still frowned at him in a markedly disapproving manner as he left the house.

Although Darcy would have gone back to work on the spot, it still remained to get past the fussy coddling of the rest of the household, sibling and servants alike. It was a full three days after Doctor Channing's permission had been granted that Georgiana at last consented to give her approval as well.

She did so in a fit of pique, tired of Darcy's incessant wheedling on the matter. He might have just gone without her permission; he certainly didn't really require it, but it made her feel better to have some say and it was an area where he was actually happy enough to indulge her. They spent most of the three days together, and it was a pleasant break from the normal busyness of life, but couldn't have been sustained by either of them for much longer.

The servants had even less real say than did Georgiana, but that didn't stop even a single one of them from expressing the opinion that he should not return to work until he had fully recovered. The housekeeper went so far as to remark within his hearing that it was bad enough that he spent a few hours each day closeted in his study and meeting with Smyth or some other man of his employment who was keeping things running in his absence.

By the time Darcy was actually back to working his normal hours every day of the week, he was all but ready to make an offer to the owner of Blue Line. Smyth was clearly curious as to why Darcy was so insistent on wanting to purchase the other company, but he asked no impertinent questions and merely went about the business of getting the best possible deal he could negotiate.

It still was not the sort of brilliant purchase that Darcy was so famous for, but on this particular transaction he was not being guided by his Second Sight for the usual reasons. Having no notion whether he might be able to turn the company to a stronger profit, Darcy nevertheless believed that it was the best investment he had made in some time.

In only a few weeks, he would have quietly arranged a better quality of life for Elizabeth. And once she was settled into her new routine, he would drop a subtle hint or two to Bingley to arrange for another joint outing. With a few more such encounters, Darcy would be able to make a better and more deliberate impression on Elizabeth.

Despite her dislike for him, he was certain she had softened somewhat towards him by the end of their encounter on the night he had seen her home safely. He had been more wholly himself that evening, he knew, with some of his natural reserve having been subverted by illness and exhaustion. If he could only achieve a similar level of ease in speaking to her while whole and well, she would perhaps soften still further and he would be able to make his intentions towards her a little more obviously known.

Even as he dreamed of a future where she would be his, Darcy reminded himself that this time around he would have to be both more cautious and deliberate in his interactions with her. And all the while as he planned, his heart beat with a fierce longing for that moment when he would know that she had forgiven him for his folly.

* * *

**A/N:** *I am using the old meaning of 'lovemaking' here, back when it meant courtship.

Also, I know **we** have all known for several chapters (and therefore, for older readers, many months!) that Bingley and Jane are no longer together, but Darcy has been sick or on the mend ever since that happened, so he (and Georgiana) wouldn't have any reason to know about that little development as of yet.

On a more personal note, thanks to everyone who is reading, with extra thanks to those who favorited or followed or both! Special thanks to those who reviewed. It means so much to me, I cannot even properly express my gratitude, and I hereby promise a teaser to anyone who reviews this chapter and has PM's enabled. Don't think of it as a bribe. Think of it as a thank you.

We'll be seeing a lot more action from Darcy's POV. I find him easier to write and I hope you all continue to not mind his ridiculously introspective ways. Because he pretty much never stops thinking.

Lastly, Happy New Year to all! I'm pretending that by starting the year out this way, I shall see a continuation of my muse behaving and real life not getting too much in the way.


	13. Chapter 13

What with one thing and another, it was several weeks before Darcy had the opportunity to see his good friend Bingley again. Getting fully back into his daily and weekly routines had taken more effort than Darcy had anticipated, largely because he was honestly making an attempt to be more careful with his health but also because the deal he was negotiating to purchase Blue Line was hitting more snags than he was accustomed to dealing with.

Apparently, his Second Sight knew a good deal when it saw one, for none of his previous acquisitions had ever been so hopelessly tangled up in last minute changes and unforeseen circumstances. There was something humorous in the idea, but Darcy was having a difficult time laughing at it or anything else, he was so filled with impatience and grim determination to finalize the deal and start the process of gently and invisibly guiding Elizabeth into her new position.

But his own trials of business and care for health aside, it was, oddly, Bingley who had seemed rather more difficult to get in touch with than was usual. He was often working, according to his assistant, Mr. Havers, who seemed to be about the only person in Bingley's life that Darcy could get in touch with, with any real regularity. Darcy had long encouraged his friend to get more involved in his own business, so he could hardly begrudge the other man's seemingly sudden passion for his work in publishing, but it did come at altogether inconvenient time.

Thinking of Bingley's continued attraction to Miss Marchrend and of that lady's interest in writing, Darcy wondered if this new fervor had anything to do with Bingley's attempts to woo and win her heart more fully. If so, he could only shake his head in bemusement that businessmen would, apparently, invariably turn to what they knew of communication and commerce and attempt to leverage everything they had to offer towards the goal of winning a woman's heart.

Well, and he would have bought several dozen businesses if he thought it would make Elizabeth look more favorably upon his suit.

It was with such thoughts running through his mind that he waited for Bingley in the restaurant that his friend had finally agreed to as a possible meeting place for lunch. Bingley was late, of course, but even that character flaw which had so often irked Darcy in the past was not enough, today, to wipe away the half smile that played on Darcy's lips every time he thought about casually bringing up the idea of the four of them going out together again.

Going out was not actually Darcy's idea of an ideal evening, but he wasn't sure yet if he dared to suggest the four of them meeting for dinner and drinks and conversation at his own home. While he was not at all averse to anyone knowing that he felt a very serious and warm regard for Elizabeth, he thought it might be too presumptuous of him to suggest so intimate a setting when he had not even had the chance to properly begin anew with her.

Glancing up at a flicker of movement seen from his peripheral vision, Darcy found his smile growing broader in welcome as he watched Charles Bingley enter the establishment. Standing, he caught the other man's attention and remained standing as his friend crossed the short distance.

"It's good to see you," Darcy began, holding out his hand for the other man to shake. It was, for him, rather effusive behavior and Bingley appeared to think so as well, coming to a halt a few paces away and eyeing Darcy with a look of sheer consternation.

"It's all well and good for you to be cheery," Bingley remarked in a low mutter, ignoring Darcy's proffered hand and sitting down in his chair with what almost seemed like angry impatience. "What do you want? Havers says you've been rather persistent."

Darcy slowly dropped his hand and knit his brows in confusion at Bingley's acid words and tone. Taking his own seat gingerly, he gave his friend a look of open confusion across the table.

"I, er, took the liberty of ordering you a drink," he said, gesturing at the glass that sat in front of the other man. "Perhaps I should have gotten something stronger for you. Whatever is the matter?"

"Whatever is the matter," Bingley mocked in a higher-pitched voice. "How can you sit across from me knowing full well that you used me for your own purposes and act so innocent? Or didn't it occur to you that you were trampling on my happiness?"

Confrontation in a boardroom was something to which Darcy was no stranger. He had even had his fair share of altercations on a more personal level, although usually with people he didn't much care for. But with Bingley, who was usually so sunny-tempered and full of careless insouciance, the shift in demeanor was as unexpected as it was out of character and Darcy found himself having no idea at all how to proceed.

He retreated into stiff formality, as was his usual wont when confronted with something he didn't quite know how to deal with.

"I'm afraid I haven't the slightest notion of what you might be speaking about."

Bingley opened his mouth, looking angry enough to fire off any of a dozen scathing retorts but was checked by the arrival of their waiter, who chose that moment to approach their table and ask whether the gentlemen had had an opportunity to decide what they wanted.

"I'll take your special," Darcy ordered at random, having no idea if the establishment even had such a thing. But the waiter merely nodded, scratched a note on his pad and turned with an air of expectation to Bingley, who looked rather strained but managed to put in his order for a bowl of soup and a shot of whiskey with something closer to his usual genial manner.

The waiter's eyebrows flickered slightly at the request for hard liquor, but he merely smiled and assured them that he would put their orders in immediately and then departed.

With the man out of the way, Darcy turned expectantly to Bingley who was now fidgeting slightly in his chair and looking everywhere but at Darcy. The interruption had managed to derail whatever it was he had worked himself up to say and if Darcy knew the other man at all, it would take some real provocation to get him started again.

Sighing to himself, he wondered if he should pursue the conversation or if he should change the subject and allow the entire thing to blow over. Bingley was the least capable person in the world of holding a grudge, no matter what the offense against him had been. Darcy had seen his friend forgive everything from unthinking slurs to deliberate malice, all with the same ease of temperament he had for everything under the sun.

At the same time, the fact that Bingley had gotten worked up as much as he had was an indication that something was seriously amiss. Bingley was many things, but he wasn't a man to see offense where none had been given. Therefore, it stood to reason that Darcy had offended his friend somehow, and he must have done something significantly terrible to provoke such a reaction.

It was true he could not begin to guess what the trespass might have been, but whatever it might be, surely it would be better to address it right away, rather than wait for Bingley's normal good humor to be restored.

Arriving at the conclusion of what he must do as a good friend, Darcy opened his mouth and picked up the tattered threads of the conversation, as though they had been having a calm discussion and he were eager to resume it.

"You were about to tell me what it is I have done to upset you," he said, still formal.

Bingley's blue eyes snapped up to meet Darcy's own dark gaze and there was more than just a hint of something sparking in their depths. But then his face seemed almost to fall into tired old lines, as though it were too much effort to display anything to the world other than a careworn and beaten down visage.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, in such a defeated tone that Darcy should not have recognized as belonging to his friend were he not a firsthand witness to it. "I wish you both all possible happiness."

For a moment, Darcy was again perfectly blank, hardly knowing what to make of a wish offered so unconvincingly and so out of the blue. Had Bingley somehow guessed about Elizabeth? Had Darcy let something slip about his Second Sight? Did Bingley, perhaps, know about Darcy's aim to purchase Blue Line and had put the pieces together? And even if any or all of these things could be right, why would Bingley sound so half hearted? Or why would he bring it up when Darcy was all but inviting him to detail his sins?

"I beg your pardon?" Darcy asked, hoping rather fervently that Bingley would provide clarification on any or all of the issues which had so immediately and thoroughly baffled him.

"Isn't that the customary thing?" Bingley inquired, a sharp edge to his voice. "When two people are going to wed, you offer your congratulations."

That had been no help, although matrimony was at least the actual topic of conversation.

"Bingley," he tried again, hesitated and then made a monumental effort to remain nothing more than politely puzzled when he was really wondering what the other man knew and how he knew it. Perhaps he had said something in the midst of his delirium? "Charles. You know that I have not announced any engagement. I am not even seeing anyone."

_Although, I do hope to rectify that soon. Just as soon as I figure out what is going on her_e!

"Not yet," Bingley muttered sullenly, echoing Darcy's thoughts to an uncanny degree.

Perhaps the other man was mind-reading. It was hardly any more farfetched than Darcy's own strange Second Sight. But the fact still remained that even if Bingley did know Darcy's intentions towards Elizabeth, he had no reason at all to be upset about it, no matter how he had found out. Even if he felt some strange compunction to play the elder brother to Elizabeth since he was involved with Jane, surely he could have no real objection to Darcy's suit. They were friends, for God's sake!

"Even were I seeing someone seriously right now, I don't understand what bearing that would have on you, Old Man." Darcy aimed for a light tone, hoping that a jocular approach might be enough to shift the whole course of the strange and disjointed exchange.

"How can you sit there and say such a thing?" Bingley flared suddenly, raising his voice to a volume approaching a shout. His hands were clenched into fists on the table and he looked as though he might shoot to his feet at any moment, overturning chairs and tables in the process.

The almost violent manner was more startling than anything else that had preceded it, but even if the other man were to lash out, Darcy had no doubt in his own ability to overmatch Bingley's smaller, slighter frame. Besides, he was growing impatient with Bingley's unwillingness to communicate properly and so gently laid his own curled fists on the table in implicit threat.

"Quit dancing around the topic and just tell me what has gotten you into such a lather," Darcy commanded in a quiet voice. "For I cannot tell what damned idea you have gotten into your head, but I cannot see how any existing or future romantic concerns of mine are any business of yours, nor why you should be sniveling about them now."

Bingley was trembling by now, though whether from suppressed rage or some other strong emotion was unclear. When he finally looked Darcy in the eye again, his own blue eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You might have thought that she was nothing to me," he said, so quietly that Darcy had to lean forward across the table to catch the words. "You might have thought that if you just waited I would move on."

He sniffed loudly and swallowed hard before continuing.

"But she's different, Darcy! I love her! Really, love her." Each word was dropping with all the heavy weight of truth and passion, punctuated with small pauses as though the effort of getting them out were a physical exercise.

At the first mention of love, Darcy saw red. What business did Bingley have playing at wooing Jane when all the while he was lusting after her younger sister? He was so incensed, that he felt a violent and shocking sudden urge to punch Bingley and never stop beating him until the other man understood that Elizabeth was _his_.

He almost stood. Almost cocked back his arm and let it fly. But reason prevailed before he could begin either motion, and he calmed himself with a great deal of personal restraint.

Well,_ almost_.

"Just who the devil are you talking about loving?" he demanded angrily, his own voice probably far too loud in the quiet restaurant. "It had better not be Elizabeth," he threatened.

"Elizabeth!" Bingley recoiled as though in repulsion or shock. "Why the deuce should I care about her when it's Jane I love?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Darcy saw the waiter edging quietly away, whatever items he had on his tray deemed able to wait for another several minutes while this no doubt fascinating drama played out at the table.

The whole tableaux was so utterly ridiculous that, relieved of his instantaneous fury at the thought of Bingley paying court to Elizabeth, Darcy found himself suddenly shaking with quiet laughter. It originated from deep in his belly and the force of it caused his shoulders to nearly vibrate with the strain of not laughing aloud. He covered his eyes with one hand and turned his face down towards the table, trying with everything he had in him to restrain his mirth. Tears welled in his eyes and he let them fall, scarcely caring what people might make of that.

And then it was all too much and he let his laughter ring out, loud and full and free. He laughed until his sides ached, and he could feel the eyes of curious diners and wait staff upon him. He laughed until he realized that across from him sat Bingley, not understanding the joke and growing angrier by the second. He probably thought Darcy was laughing at _him_. In a way, Darcy supposed he was, but as he had no desire to wound his friend over whatever stupid misunderstanding had caused Bingley to think that Darcy desired Jane, he finally found the ability to quell his amusement.

"Bingley, you damned fool," he cried, still not altogether emotionally sober, "I don't want _Jane_. I want Elizabeth. I," he caught his breath and paused briefly, almost unable to believe that he was about to say it aloud. "_I love Elizabeth_."

Even if he lived to be one hundred, Darcy didn't think he would ever forget the comical range of emotions that warred for dominance on Bingley's face at that moment in time. His growing rage was subsumed by surprise, which then gave way to bewilderment and finally settled on some bizarre cross-breed of relief mixed with a dawning realization of horror.

"You don't want Jane?" Bingley echoed, the hopeful relief taking the upper hand, when at last it seemed that something needed to be said.

"No. Bingley! I could never try to take someone away from you. Whatever made you think I wanted to?"

At this, Bingley had the grace to look ashamed. "It was when you were sick," he muttered. "You said, and I quote, ''Lizbeth. _Jane_. My wife.'"

Startling back in surprise, Darcy asked the first thing that came to mind. "I did?"

"Yes," Bingley's voice held an edge of remembered grimness. "You can imagine how that sounded."

Darcy nodded, thinking of how he had felt only minutes before when he had thought that Bingley was professing his love for Elizabeth.

"I was sick," he said, by way of explanation. "Out of my mind with fever. I don't know why I would have said any such thing. But I am sorry for the distress it caused you. I would never..." he trailed off, not sure how to finish. He would never have said anything at all regarding marriage had he not been in the grip of a fever. He would never try to steal a woman from a man who was clearly besotted with her and she with him. He would never knowingly cause such pain to anyone, let alone his closest friend.

Bingley didn't seem to notice the unfinished thought. His face was buried in his hands and he was muttering something that sounded like, "Oh God, Jane! What have I done?"

Roused to instant concern, Darcy leaned forward again, signally to the lurking waiter as he did so to bring over the tray. He waited until the man had placed the whiskey and a small salad on the table and departed before pushing the shot towards Bingley asking, "What is it?"

Bingley looked up, his eyes reddened and wide with panic.

"I told Jane I didn't want to be with her anymore," he blurted. "We... we're not together now."

Sympathetic and feeling a guilty lance of relief go through him that Bingley was too wrapped up in this personal crisis to spend any time questioning him about his own embroilment with Elizabeth, Darcy nudged the shot a little closer and urged Bingley to tell him everything.

His friend did so without hesitation and, at the end of the recitation, turned a pleading gaze towards Darcy. "Do you think she can forgive me?" he asked. "Or have I ruined everything?"

Feeling unequal to the task of answering either of those questions and trying to suppress the selfish part of him that wondered how he was supposed to arrange more time with Elizabeth, Darcy only shook his head, saying sadly, "I have no idea, Old Man. But all you can do is to make things right. I mean, if you really love her."

"I do," Bingley answered fervently, looking around to find and signal the waiter. "You can't possibly understand how much I want to make things right."

_Oh_, thought Darcy, joining his friend in ordering another round of whiskey, _you have _no_ idea how much I understand._

* * *

**Author's Notes: **

**First and foremost, thanks to everyone who reads and extra thanks to those who reviewed! If I couldn't PM you to send you a teaser, know that I wanted to. And to answer a general inquiry, I am hoping to get on a weekly posting schedule so look for updates every Tuesday and I'll do my very best to come through. **

**For the rest of this note, here's a TL;DR for the impatient: I have another story in the works and will be offering a teaser of **_**that**_** as a thank you for reviews of this chapter. For more details, read on…**

The more I read FanFic, the more I think that many of the stories that I read should be published as straight up fiction. In many cases, I've read terrific original storylines with nothing whatsoever to do with the fandom, except that the same names are used. I would say I see this less often in JAFF than I do other places, but that's a little beside the point. I know it's easier to get an audience when there's already a fandom in place, so I genuinely do get the appeal.

I do it myself, of course. So many of you have called _Suddenly I See_ unique, and it warms my heart, but it's also just a natural development of the fact that I didn't _really _set out to write this as a JAFF. It has always been its own story, and I just tweak things here or there to get close enough to canon to justify it to myself.

So, a confession. I am writing another story, entitled _Teleporter_. I'm up to my old tricks of naming my characters and places after those from P&P. The story isn't P&P at all, except that Darcy and Elizabeth don't really get on at first. And he's filthy rich.

And the point of this ramble? Well, I'm still working here and there on _Teleporter_, although I am trying to give SIS more of my real attention as I would like to wrap it up this year. I've been debating posting _Teleporter _as a JAFF, in the meantime, and have been considering some teasers to see what the fandom thinks.

_Teleporter _is similar to SIS, in that it could best be categorized as urban fantasy. There will be special powers. It's set in modern times, though, with references to real places. It's also geared towards a more mature audience with lots of swearing and, although I haven't gotten there yet, potential lemons.

All of which is to say, if you're interested in seeing _Teleporter_, let me know. And that will be the thank you I offer this week in lieu of a teaser from the next chapter of SIS.


	14. Chapter 14

Jane stared miserably at the blank paper in front of her, having just violently crumpled up the last sheet she had been working on and tossed it in the general direction of the rubbish bin. It seemed that nothing she tried to write these days came out as she intended. A scene between two characters who had never before had any romantic underpinnings was suddenly fraught with heartache and recriminations, or a character would do something wholly unexpected and seemingly entirely out of their normal personality.

Writing had so often been Jane's haven in the past, her love for the written word having developed at an early age, no doubt a gift from her father. Not her step-father, though she dearly loved Thomas Bennet, but the real father she had scarcely known.

James Marchrend had been so young when he died, but novels had been his passion and he had written and published a fair number of them considering his youth. He had done so under the name of J. M. Richardson, for reasons that even Jane's mother hadn't quite been able to explain.

When Jane had been still living at home and going to school, she had discovered an unfinished and unpublished manuscript of her father's among the few mementos Fanny had kept sealed away in a box. Jane had already read every one of her father's books several times over and had greeted this particular discovery with the deepest delight.

Still, it was deeply unsatisfying to Jane that her father's work should remain unfinished and so she had written her own ending to that unfinished novel. The process had woken something in her that she hadn't ever recognized in herself before, and she began writing her own original stories.

It might have been something she only ever did for her own amusement, had Elizabeth not eventually happened across that early manuscript and demanded to know where it had come from. Embarrassed at what was now an obviously juvenile effort, Jane had demurred and waved away her sister's words of encouragement to take another look at finishing James Marchrend's last book. At least she had initially. Lizzie was not one to be dissuaded from her path when she felt that she knew what was best.

From there, with further urging from Lizzie and a great deal of kindly encouragement from Thomas Bennet, Jane had refined her more childish attempt at providing an ending to _Airborn _before approaching her father's publisher with a great deal of trepidation and hope.

To her surprise - though not to Lizzie's, as she was wont to point out at every opportunity - Jane found an editor who was willing to at least take a look at the manuscript. He made it clear he was doing so only because the majority of it had been James Marchrend's last, unfinished work. When he was unable to discern where Jane had picked up the writing, that editor had rapidly changed gears and had instead begun to woo her with a contract for _Airborn_ and three more original novels, all to be published under her father's pseudonym. He had been convinced they would sell, with enough people still able to recognize the author name.

The last of those three novels had been released only several months ago, and Jane had decided not to sign any new contracts to write under her father's pseudonym. She had proved to herself that she was capable of the task, no matter how slowly it had gone when relegated to the time she had available between teaching and trying to have a social life.

There was a part of Jane that felt that she must write and publish under her own name and build a following that was entirely separate from her father's works. As far as she had come, there was still much further to go. And now, free from contracts and suddenly relieved of what had been a wonderfully burgeoning social life, Jane couldn't seem to write a single word.

Giving up on what could be politely described as a butchery of her current novel in progress, Jane turned instead to an idea that had been niggling at the back of her mind. It was only the germ of an idea, but that was perhaps what she needed right now in order to get back into a proper frame of mind for work on her novel. There was no danger of these new characters acting wildly different than they ought to; they hadn't any true depth as of yet.

Perhaps an hour later, Jane at last stirred from her desk when a knock came at her bedroom door.

"Yes?" she called, half turning in her chair.

Elizabeth poked her head in, her dark eyes wide in what was either alarm or surprise. "Jane," she hissed, coming into the room and closing the door quietly behind her before continuing in a low, urgent tone. "Mr. Bingley is here. He wants to see you."

Jane blinked in surprise, recoiling slightly in her chair. She couldn't begin to think of a reply to such an extraordinary surprise.

"Do you want to see him or shall I tell him to go away?" Elizabeth asked, when it became clear that Jane had no reply immediately forthcoming.

Jane could see a spark in her sister's eyes that meant if she were allowed to tell Charles Bingley to go away, she would do so with the greatest relish and more than a few choice words regarding his character.

"How does he look?" Jane found herself inquiring, her voice coming much more weakly than she should have liked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I mean, is he... does he seem sad? Or-?"

"He seems agitated," Elizabeth replied matter-of-factly. "Like he's afraid to see you or talk to you again. As he should be," she added in a mutter.

Jane came to her feet, automatically smoothing the front of the dress she wore. "I don't know what to think," she said aloud. "Part of me wants to see him again, but part of me doesn't. What would you do, Lizzie?"

But her sister was shaking her dark hair. "Don't ask me what I would do," she advised. "Because it's nothing you would ever consider doing yourself. Besides, this is your heart on the line here. If you think it would do you some good to talk to him again - to maybe get some closure - then I think you should do that. If you think it would be better to never see him again, then I think you should send him away."

Jane nodded, somewhat abstracted. "I'll see him," she decided suddenly. "It may be that he has come to apologize or explain. And even if he hasn't, I will ask for a better explanation than the one he gave me when he..." she trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

Elizabeth's eyes were warm with compassion and she stepped forward to pull her sister into a fierce hug. "I'm proud of you," she murmured before backing up half a pace, still holding onto Jane's hands. "Do you want me to leave? Give you two some privacy?"

"I," Jane hesitated, thinking hard. "Would you mind staying, but maybe in your room? I don't know how long he'll be here, but I am sure to need you once he has gone."

"Of course," Elizabeth squeezed Jane's hands in reassurance and then dropped them. "Just call for me if you need me for anything."

Jane nodded again, and then schooled her face into an expression of cool serenity. "I can do this," she breathed, speaking more to herself than to her sister.

Elizabeth smiled and answered anyway. "Yes. You can."

Stepping around Elizabeth, Jane reached for her doorknob and, with a final calming deep breath, turned it and stepped out into the hallway. Proceeding down its short length, she moved into the living room, dimly aware of Elizabeth crossing the hallway behind her and entering her own room.

Mr. Bingley was sitting in the living room, perched anxiously on the edge of a worn wingback chair that was placed near the window. The curtains were pulled open to admit the weak sunlight, and in the gentle wash of illumination, Bingley appeared almost as though he had aged considerably since the last time Jane had seen him. His normally open face was now drawn into grim lines and the solemn expression was so unlike him that Jane paused briefly in surprise at the sight.

Shaking off the temporary hesitation, Jane stepped out of the hallway and came to a halt while she was still across the room from Mr. Bingley. He stood immediately, one hand reaching to remove a hat that wasn't there. Looking as awkward as Jane had ever seen him, he reddened slightly and gave a nod that was almost deep enough to be interpreted as a bow.

Folding her shaking hands in front of her, Jane inclined her head back and waited for him to speak. He had come to her, after all, and she would wait for him to begin.

"Jane," Mr. Bingley began, running a hand backwards through his hair in a display of nervous agitation.

"Miss Marchrend," she corrected him immediately, her voice gentle but her resolve firm.

The tips of his ears turned pink and something flashed briefly in his blue eyes. It was there and gone so quickly that Jane couldn't begin to interpret it.

"Miss Marchrend," he amended, "thank you for seeing me. I have something that I wish to discuss with you, if you'll hear me out." He gestured to the other chair that sat cozily near the wingback he had chosen. It was situated nearer to the fireplace and, though shabby, was a great deal more comfortable than the wingback was.

Jane felt her heart thaw ever so slightly towards Mr. Bingley; he was, almost without fail, nothing but kindness and warm consideration. Having already made up her mind to hear him out, she nodded immediately and crossed the room to take the proffered seat.

He waited until she had settled in comfortably before reseating himself, again perched on the edge of the chair as though to be nearer to her or to be able to rise suddenly if the situation should happen to call for it. Everything about his behavior was so completely unlike his typically relaxed - almost lazy - approach, that Jane began really to wonder what had brought him here this day and in such a state.

He did not leave her wondering long, but immediately dived into what he had come to say, the words tripping in a hurried manner from his lips, but sounding as though there had been some careful rehearsal of them beforehand.

"Firstly," Bingley began, looking earnestly into Jane's eyes, "I owe you the greatest apology for the things I said and the way I treated you during our last encounter." He swallowed heavily, averting his eyes momentarily in a display of shame. "I was the biggest sort of callous fool, and I am sorry for any pain I caused you. I can only hope now that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I will understand if you cannot."

Jane's emotions had been raw and near the surface ever since Bngley had broken things off with her several weeks before, so it was no surprise to her when her eyes started to prickle with the imminent threat of sudden tears. She blinked several times, trying to master herself.

Seeming aware of her struggle, Bingley tactfully averted his gaze once more, looking down at the carpet until she found her control and her voice.

"Do I get no better explanation for why you behaved the way you did?"

He looked up again, pained and mortified. "I have no good explanation for my behavior," he told her honestly. "When Darcy was on his sickbed, I saw him. He said something and I misunderstood it entirely." The red stain of embarrassment had now crept into his fair cheeks, but he held her gaze and continued his confession in a steady voice.

"Breaking things off with you - hurting you - was the stupidest thing I have ever done. That I acted and spoke in such a manner to you based off a misunderstanding between myself and Darcy is a shame I shall never get over."

Jane remained silent as she absorbed this. It was clear to her that Bingley had no intention of sharing what, exactly, the misunderstanding had been. In the light of what Mr. Bingley had said during their last encounter, it was easy enough to piece together that Mr. Darcy must have said something that had made Mr. Bingley believe that Jane was somehow using Bingley to get to Mr. Darcy.

The very notion was hurtful, painting her as it did in the light of some sort of social climber or manipulative adventurer. Worse than that was the idea that Mr. Bingley had been able to take something that was said by a man who was, by every account, raging with fever and probably half out of his mind with it, and believe the worst of her without seeming to pause or question what the truth really was.

"I see," Jane finally managed, her voice unsteady again but her eyes dry. A small spark of anger had ignited in her breast, and though the emotion was not one she often experienced, she knew that in this case she had every reason to feel it.

Bingley was sober as he gazed at her across the few feet that separated them. His eyes seemed to search her face for clues about what she might be thinking or feeling, and there was a sort of dogged determination in the way he regarded her. It was as though he had already resigned himself in part to the idea that she could not forgive him for his abominable treatment of her, but was willing to persist in laying his heart open before her until she absolutely rejected both him and his apologies.

"I have no intention of trying to cause you further pain," he said slowly. "But if you will permit me, I have one last thing I would like to say."

Jane nodded, somewhat reluctant but also curious.

"You may never be able to forgive me," he reiterated. "I could understand and accept that. I've been a jealous fool and I've been careless. All the apologizing in the world can't undo that." He took a deep breath, seeming to fortify himself. "I will leave you alone for as long as you require. If you tell me to never bother you again, I will respect that.

"But you need to know that I don't want a life spent apart from you. If you could find it in your heart to give me another chance, I would like to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I - I _care_ about you more deeply than I ever have anyone else. And I want to show that to you, in any way you'll permit me to."

Somewhere in the middle of that extraordinary speech, Jane felt a hot tear slide down her cheek, followed in swift succession by others. She groped ineffectually for a handkerchief, found none, and used the tips of her fingers to smear them away.

Bingley gave her a small smile that was at once so tender and so hopeful that she had to shut her eyes to block out the sight of it. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest, overwhelmed at the declarations that lurked just beneath the surface of Bingley's politely worded speech. He had come as near as he might to saying he loved her and wanted to marry her.

A pressure on her hand caused Jane's eyes to pop back open, and she looked down to see Bingley was pressing his own handkerchief into her palm. She clutched at it automatically, feeling mildly bereft when he withdrew his empty hand. To cover her confusion and because she needed to, Jane used the handkerchief to dab at her face, regaining mastery with some difficulty.

When she at last felt in command of herself enough to speak, she offered a wobbly smile to Mr. Bingley before taking a deep breath in preparation to begin. "Thank you for your apology," she said, her voice starting off thick. Clearing her throat as much from nervousness as to gain clarity, she continued. "It would be dishonest of me to say that all is well. I need some time to think."

Bingley's face fell slightly, but he instantly remembered himself and gave her an encouraging smile that seemed to be mostly sincere.

"I think it's important for you to know how much it hurts me that you could think I use you in the manner you've implied." Her voice was still shaky, but growing stronger as she continued. "I didn't think your character was quite so inconstant as it seems to be."

She paused, but he made no attempt to defend himself from her gently leveled accusations, instead merely acknowledging her observations with a slight dip of his head and an accepting expression on his face. Jane could not help but think that he must already have come to terms with his own defects, and the idea lightened her heart with fresh hope. A man who knew his faults was a man in a position to correct them.

Also, she thought, no one was perfect. There was bound to be some aspects of the man in front of her that could stand improvement, just as she herself had areas that were less than ideal.

It was true that she was afraid of being hurt by him again, and part of her wanted to send him away now so as to never have to risk it. But that would be unfair to both of them; particularly, it would be unfair to Bingley as he would have been denied an opportunity to change and grow. She had to let him back into her life if she wanted him to prove that he would never hurt her that way again.

Didn't she?

Feeling muddled, but also having a firm conviction of both Bingley's genuine contrition and her own desire to have him be a part of her life, Jane came to a decision.

"I would like us to try to be friends, for now," she offered. "As I said, I need some time to think, but I admit that I have missed your company very much." She blushed as she said it, dropping her gaze to her lap, not used to speaking so candidly to anyone outside her family.

"Friends," Bingley echoed, his voice soft. "I would like that."

Finding the courage to look up at him again, Jane took in his open face, studying the fresh changes there. He appeared more hopeful as well, his mouth having relaxed from the grim line it had been when he had arrived. He was still smiling gently at her, seeming peaceful at having made as much progress as he had.

Slowly, he came to his feet and stood for a moment, looking down at her. "I shall go now," he said, seeming reluctant. "Please, take as much time to think as you need. I'll wait for you to be in touch."

He turned and moved to the door with the most purposeful stride Jane had ever seen him adopt.

She found herself rushing to her feet, calling after him. "Wait!"

He turned, questioning.

"Elizabeth and I are going to our parent's house for supper this weekend." She hesitated, but he merely looked expectant. "I'd like it if you came and met the rest of my family."

Mr. Bingley grinned widely. "I can think of nothing I'd like more!"

Jane filled him in on the details of time and place and then saw him out the door, filled with relief at his having come and relief at his having gone away again. After taking a moment to marvel at the past fifteen minutes of her life, Jane collected herself and went to rap softly on Elizabeth's bedroom door.

It opened so swiftly that Jane startled back a pace and then eyed her younger sister with suspicion.

"Were you trying to listen in?" she demanded, appalled.

"Of course!" Elizabeth grinned unrepentantly. "Don't worry. I couldn't hear anything, except that neither of you were yelling."

Jane frowned. "Elizabeth, that was private. I can't believe you would-"

"I didn't!" Elizabeth cut in. "Sorry. I was teasing you. I thought I heard the front door close a minute ago. I was only listening just now to see if you were still talking."

Still a little miffed at the bad timing and total thoughtlessness of Elizabeth's teasing, Jane nevertheless dismissed the entire exchange in order to share with her sister what reckless course of action she herself had just undertaken.

Giving only the highlights of the conversation - he apologized, I said I needed time to think but that I'd like to try being friends - Jane then told her sister of the impulsive offer she had made just before Mr. Bingley had left.

The look on Elizabeth's face was deliberately comical.

"You asked him to dinner with the family?" Elizabeth questioned, shaking her head slightly in dismay.

Jane bit her lip briefly. "Yes."

"What. Were. You. _Thinking_?"

"I'm not certain that I was thinking at all."

Elizabeth let out her breath in a huff and then tried to offer something in the way of positive thinking.

"_If_ he survives it," she said, "and _if_ he still wants to be friends with you after the fact, at least you'll know for sure that he is serious about wanting to be part of your life."

Looking down to where she still clutched Mr. Bingley's handkerchief in her hand, Jane could only hope that her family wouldn't be enough to scare him away a second time.

* * *

**A/N:** Hokay, I'll try to keep this short. I bet I fail in that endeavor.

First, as always, thanks to everyone reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting. It means so much to me, every time. I know I still owe some replies and _Teleporter_ teasers. I hope to get that done directly after posting this. Figured everyone would want a chapter more than they'd want my senseless chatter.

Secondly, I am sorry I am a day late getting this out. My coworker quit, so I have been trying to do the work of two people and all my precious writing time has been eaten into. And when I get home, I'm basically ready to fall into a coma, I have been so physically exhausted. I am not sure when this situation will change, so there may be more delays in the coming weeks, but I'll keep trying to make it happen.

Thirdly, due to the whole "trying to just push this chapter out there" theme, I didn't give my beta time to give it in-depth help. Any mistakes are mine.

Fourthly, more thanks are due to everyone who gave me feedback on _Teleporter_. Since writing ahead and having time in general aren't on the table, I can offer another teaser of that as thanks for reviews. I'm just debating whether I should jump ahead for an except or roll you all right into chapter one. I'm open to suggestions!

Very much less than three for you all!

-Imp


	15. Chapter 15

Elizabeth badgered Jane for more details of her encounter with Bingley right up until the moment she was stepping out the front door of their flat in order to make her way to work. Normally reserved as Jane might be, Elizabeth usually had a knack for getting her older sister to open up and share more than she might have intended.

Not so with this business with Bingley. Jane had remained tight-lipped, giving away very little and evading most of Elizabeth's questions with pointed remarks about the time and about how Lizzie wouldn't want to miss the coach.

"Tell me this much," Elizabeth had demanded, pulling on her coat and searching for her keys all at the same time. Then, pausing long enough to put her hands on her hips and level a searching gaze at Jane, she had asked, "Did he at least tell you _why_ he had broken things off with you before?"

Jane sighed. "Yes."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "And that was?"

"Lizzie, please. You don't have time for this."

"You can't hold out on me forever," Elizabeth muttered.

"I'll tell you everything I can once I've had time to think about it," Jane hurried to say. "But, Lizzie, I don't want to betray something that might be a confidence."

"A confidence?" Elizabeth's eyes narrowed still further. "Does this involve someone else?"

Jane's eyes slid guiltily away.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Elizabeth demanded. "It was something to do with Darcy, wasn't it?"

"Not directly," Jane defended, watching in resignation as her sister's face flushed an angry red.

"I _knew_ it! I just knew that he must have said something or done something. I bet he decided to meddle in Bingley's life and told him to break up with you." Elizabeth was moving almost violently now as she pushed aside cushions and opened drawers in her hunt for her keys.

"You don't know that," Jane said. "I don't even know what his involvement was."

Elizabeth tossed a hot glance over her shoulder. "I can't believe you're defending him!"

"I'm not defending him," Jane asserted quietly. "I'm merely pointing out that you don't have any idea of the details and it's not fair for you to assume the worst."

"Perhaps not," Elizabeth conceded. "But if he was involved, I can't see that he could have been anything other than high handed. It's just how he is. 'Oh, I don't want her working here in my offices. She's too common. Find her something else to do.' And, 'I just appeared at your workplace for no apparent reason and detained you - also for no apparent reason - and I will see you home no matter what you think about it.'"

"I thought you said he seemed actually rather sweet that night."

Elizabeth made a scoffing noise. "That's what _you_ said. I said I was surprised at his manner. Anyway, he was sick," she finished, as though that explained anything.

"There they are!" she exclaimed in the next moment, seizing her keys triumphantly. Whirling, she headed towards the door, passing Jane as she left and giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. "I'll see you tomorrow. You can tell me everything then and we can start working out how to handle this family dinner."

* * *

Darcy was uncomfortable. He had been sitting in the back of his automobile outside of Bingley's place for the better part of a quarter hour and still had not quite managed to convince himself to carry through with the plan that had brought him to his friend's residence.

"It's just dinner," he muttered, exasperated with his own sudden onset of nerves.

But the crux of the matter was precisely that it _wasn't_ just dinner. Darcy still was not certain how Bingley felt towards him or whether their friendship was still intact after the revelations of their last lunch. It was true that everything had seemed to end on a good note between them, but there was something nagging at the back of Darcy's mind and it troubled him.

He felt almost guilty, though he could not begin to logically reason out why he might be experiencing that particular emotion. Whatever he might have said while he was ill, he couldn't have intended to sow the seeds of doubt into Bingley's mind. Honestly, Bingley had no one but himself to blame for the precipitous action he had undertaken with regard to Miss Marchrend.

Putting all of that aside, even if Darcy had been at fault for something, a simple apology would have been all that would be needed to smooth things over. Bingley was hardly the type to carry a grudge and since Darcy hadn't committed any grievances, it should be a simple matter to walk up to the door and invite the other man to join him for dinner.

Feeling a measure of resolve, Darcy at last moved to open the door and step out of the automobile, walking with purposeful strides to rap firmly on the front door of Bingley's house.

To his alarm and dismay, it was Caroline who answered the summons, almost immediately. It was true that she could have merely been walking by and happened to be the closest person to the door, but the expression of surprise on her face seemed altogether false.

Of course, he had been sitting out in front of the house for some time. It was not outside the realm of possibility that she had noticed his automobile and then purposefully planted herself near the door and shooed away the servants in order to be the person to greet him.

"Why, Mr. Darcy," she cooed in a voice as sickly sweet as the overwhelming perfume she favored. "What a surprise to see you here. Do come in."

She swung the door wider, but not so wide that he wouldn't be able to avoid brushing up against her as he passed. With an inward sigh, Darcy turned nearly sideways to squeeze himself through the narrow opening, scraping against the door frame as he did so.

"Is your brother here?" he inquired, retreating into the stiff formality that governed all his interactions with the clingy Miss Bingley.

"Why, yes," she replied, affecting bemusement, as if taken aback that his purpose in coming hadn't been to see her. "We were just about to sit down to supper. Would you care to join us?"

"Ah. Perhaps not. I have no wish to disturb-"

"Nonsense," Caroline interrupted, laughing as though he had just told her a particularly witty joke. "It is just a quiet family supper. There could be no disturbance."

The implications of _that_ were all too clear. Having no wish to encourage the infernal woman further, Darcy again tried to politely extricate himself. "Thank you, but I will-"

He was interrupted again, this time by Bingley, who strode into the hallway and greeted him with a cheery exclamation of surprise.

"Darcy! What brings you here?" Bingley crossed from the stairs to greet his friend with a hearty handshake. "We're just about to dine," he continued, not giving the other man a chance to answer this question. "Join us, won't you?"

Relieved at having received a typically effusive welcome from Bingley, Darcy gave his assent to the meal, barely managing to hold back a grimace as Miss Bingley possessively wound her arm through his, batting her lashes up at him and spouting some nonsense about how nice it was to be escorted to dinner.

Her presence at the table made it impossible for either man to speak about the matters that were at the forefront of their minds, though Bingley did let it slip that he was to dine with the Bennet family the next evening. It was the biggest mistake he might have been able to make even if he had been actively trying to sabotage his own sanity and future happiness.

Miss Bingley's head whipped around so quickly once the words had fallen from her brother's lips, that Darcy could not begin to guess how she hadn't sustained a paralyzing injury in the process.

"I had thought you were quite over Jane," Miss Bingley attempted to sound cooly disinterested, but her tone was too cold and brittle to carry off the proper effect.

Catching Bingley's eye, Darcy winced dramatically before giving what he hoped was a suitably sympathetic smile.

Bingley himself looked a bit ashen, as though he had only just realized how his sister would immediately react to this information and as if he was even now guessing at what she might do in the near future. Still, he cleared his throat and made a manful attempt to dissuade Caroline from making any of the cutting remarks that were so obviously waiting just on the tip of her tongue.

"You are mistaken, Caroline. I feel very deeply for Miss Marchrend and have every intention of pursuing my relationship with her."

Miss Bingley's already patently false smile widened until it became closer to a grimace. "Indeed? Pray tell, when am I to wish you joy, Brother?"

"I know not," Bingley responded evenly, his voice as serious as Darcy had ever heard it. "But you may depend upon my telling you as soon as I have secured her hand."

Miss Bingley had the misfortune of having taken a sip of wine as she allowed her brother to answer what she had clearly intended as a sarcastic question. As such, when Bingley replied to her so earnestly and in such direct opposition to what she would have wished to hear, she choked in surprise and began coughing.

Darcy watched, feeling the strangest mixture of amusement and sympathy, but other than tossing a brief look of concern at Caroline, he made no move to help her. Bingley did not react either, other than to ostentatiously take a sip of his own wine and ask casually, "Are you well, Caro?"

Gasping and red faced, when she had finally mastered herself and regained her voice, Caroline shot her brother a furious look before responding stiffly. "Yes. I am quite well, thank you." After a calculated pause, she continued. "Although, it occurs to me that I have not had nearly enough opportunity to get to know the woman who is apparently destined to become my sister. Really, Charles, how very bad of you! You must rectify this sorry state of affairs immediately. I insist!"

Darcy saw the trap and tried in vain to insert himself into the conversation. However, he got no further than saying, "I think-" before Bingley, oblivious to what was coming next, cheerfully seized on what appeared to be capitulation from Caroline's quarter.

"I daresay we can arrange that, Caro. I am glad to see you taking an interest!"

The look on Miss Bingley's face was one of triumph. In a gloating tone of voice, she said smoothly, "Oh yes! Indeed, I see no reason for any delay. You say you're going to dine with the whole family tomorrow-night? It seems a perfect opportunity for me to have the opportunity to meet all my new family!"

Feeling rather like a spectator at a sporting event, Darcy turned his head to see Bingley's expression falter from pleased insouciance to openly appalled disbelief.

"Caroline, really, I c-cannot have you along tomorrow." Bingley was nearly stammering his words.

"Oh, but I insist!" Miss Bingley had schooled her features into a mask of fawning excitement. "How could anything be better than this? I'm certain it's not everyday that an opportunity like this should come along."

"I believe this will be your brother's first time meeting the entire family," Darcy once again tried to assist his friend.

Caroline beamed. "Well! Surely you'll want to have your family with you for support? It is my understanding that such meetings can be somewhat awkward. I would be more than delighted to help you break the ice, Charles."

"But you have not been invited," Bingley objected.

This, too, Caroline easily swept aside. "Oh, I am just one person and I scarcely eat anything, nor do I take up much space. Surely they could have no objections to my attending? If they are making a point of dining as a family then they must understand the importance of staying close to their relations."

Darcy and Bingley exchanged helpless looks as Caroline concentrated on her plate, the smirk she tried to hide turning her lips irrepressibly upwards in a savagely satisfied manner.

Had it been between him and Georgiana, Darcy reflected, and she could bring herself to act in so crass a manner, he would have simply denied her demands and informed her that to invite oneself along to any event was the height of rudeness. But Bingley was used to giving Caroline her way, or else she was used to deviling him until she achieved her aims.

Of course, Darcy himself had been more than a little tempted to see whether he might be able to finagle his own invitation to the dinner. It had been too long since he had last seen Elizabeth and although his plans with Blue Line were progressing nicely, he still chafed with impatience and longing to be able to simply _speak_ with her again.

If Miss Marchrend was willing to forgive Bingley for his tresspasses against her, then Darcy had some hope that there might be another joint outing in the near future. Of course, he felt he might not be able to wait so long and had been puzzling over various plans that might bring them together sooner in a way that would appear to her to be accidental. So far, nothing had presented itself as a satisfactory answer; after all, he had no wish to appear to be stalking her.

Still, desperate as he felt to see Elizabeth, he had the good social grace to decline any invitation that did not come directly from the source of the hosts. And for such an invitation, Darcy would wait forever. They did not know him and he did not know them.

As Caroline and Bingley politely bickered over what remained of the supper hour, Darcy found himself wondering if there were a way he might insert himself into Elizabeth's life via her family. It was possible that it might be simpler to arrange a chance meeting with one of them, especially if her father were at all involved in the world of business.

He mulled over the possibilities until a servant clearing away a plate that he had no memory of emptying broke him from his reverie. Mildly ashamed at having so thoroughly ignored the table - this, despite the fact that Caroline and Bingley had still not stopped carrying on with their familial argument - Darcy waited for the next pause of more than few seconds to insert himself back into the conversation.

When his opportunity came, he found that he seemed willing to be all manner of socially graceless on this evening. No matter how uncomfortable it was for him to listen to Miss Bingley bully her brother into getting her own way, Darcy felt that it was possible that he might have found a more tactful escape from her sharp tongue and insinuating ways than to baldly suggest to Bingley that they retire to his library to talk business.

For his part, Bingley didn't seem anything other than relieved at the offered escape and, despite them having no business to speak of that Darcy could really recall, agreed with alacrity and paused only to direct a servant to bring them after-dinner drinks.

Thus dismissed from the conversation, Caroline sniffed loudly in disapprobation at their leaving, but made no other attempt to converse with either of the men as they took their leave.

On the way to the library, Darcy gave his friend a sympathetic look.

"Are you going to take her?"

Bingley's answer was grim. "I don't see how I can dissuade her. You know Caroline."

"Indeed," Darcy murmured, declining to comment further on the other man's sister. It was not his place to tell Bingley how to manage her and he would not give his opinion unless it were asked for.

Of course, Bingley knew his sister behaved poorly and had occasionally displayed some embarrassment over it. But the emotion never seemed to linger with him long enough for him to do anything about her.

His mind filled with the thoughts of family and of expanding his own family to include Elizabeth in the cozy circle that was just him and Georgiana, Darcy only half attended to Bingley's anxious chatter about how Jane had received his apology and his hopes that the next evening would go well.

"Yes," Darcy finally responded to one such comment, coming out of his own ruminations with some difficulty. "But I am certain that if you continue to be as you have always been, no one in the family will find anything to object to."

Bingley laughed, good humor restored by a combination of freedom from his sister's wheedling and the effects of the brandy the two gentlemen were sharing in front of a crackling fire.

"Perhaps none of them that have known me before," he acknowledged, not bothering to pretend to false modesty. "But I do think Miss Elizabeth Bennet will take some time to convince."

At her name, Darcy was instantly on high alert, although he attempted to give no outward sign of his sudden interest. "Oh yes? How do you mean?" He asked the question with studied casualness.

"She was the one to answer the door when I went round to call on Jane," Bingley told him. "She didn't really say anything or even frown at me, but... I don't know. Her eyes are _very_ expressive, don't you think?

"When she looked at me, it was as though she were warning me off and passing judgment on me all at once. She doesn't think I can be worthy of her sister! I'm not saying she's wrong to think so, but I do hope she will not try to dissuade Jane from seeing me again."

Darcy sat back in his chair, utterly startled at Bingley's comments. He himself had often looked at Elizabeth's eyes and thought them uncommonly pretty or mused that he could clearly see the light of intelligence shining from their depths. But that had been the extent of it. Certainly there had never seemed to be whole messages lurking in her gaze, waiting to be decoded.

"You got all of that in a look, did you?" Darcy's voice came out more sharply than he intended, stung at the thought that Bingley should have somehow been more perceptive than he had managed himself.

It wasn't that he thought Bingley was stupid or unobservant, but Darcy had always thought he had an edge over other people, possessing as he did, his Second Sight. How many ways would his reliance on his gift have proved to blind him more than it had helped him to really see? How many other things in his life had he missed or outright misinterpreted?

Feeling off-balance, he felt no better as Bingley frowned thoughtfully before replying. "Yes. Had you never noticed?"

Opting to keep silent, Darcy merely shook his head in response.

It was, finally, Bingley's turn to regard him with sympathy. "Well, I can tell you this much," he commented. "I haven't managed to determine what she feels for you, but whatever it is, she feels it quite passionately."

Thinking of his recent revelation that Elizabeth did not care for him - in point of fact, that she probably hated him - Darcy groaned inwardly. Though they soon moved onto other topics of conversation, it occurred to him more than once that evening that it was just his luck that the first thing that Elizabeth felt passionately towards him was a feeling of loathing.

* * *

**A/N:** o.O CAROLINE. GO HOME, YOU'RE A TERRIBLE PERSON.

Haha, anyway. Look at me making up for being late last week by being early this one. Hopefully there aren't too many errors that have slipped past me. My poor beta has a similar "work is killing meeee" situation going on, so I am not even pestering her for anything more than a high-level reaction to plot.

One more chapter (I think) and then we get to much-anticipated (by me, anyway) dinner.

To everyone reading, my deepest thanks. As always, you guys rock my world and warm the cockles of my heart. I make no promises regarding teasers or excerpts this go-round. I will, however, continue to chatter at anyone I can PM and who reviews. I know. That might be enough to keep anyone from saying anything.


	16. Chapter 16

Elizabeth glanced up at the clock on the wall and then back at the machine she was operating. It was her first night running a machine without the guidance and tutelage of stinky Lukas and she had to admit that she found it to be a great deal more enjoyable than sweeping ever could be.

It was still several minutes before the horn would sound, signaling their second break of the night, so she turned to pick up another tray of mail from the pallet behind her and easily tossed it onto the edge of the feed belt before discarding the tray upside-down on the top of the machine's closed lids and using her hands to order the mail into a neat line, flush with the metal edge of the machine.

Another glance at the clock showed that there were now only two minutes before break, so she turned her attention to her operator's log, filling in the details that she could. Each mailing was named and broken into multiple passes, so that information and the run end time were all things that she could fill out in advance. The only line she needed to leave blank was the count of how much mail she had run up to that point. She wouldn't know that until she stopped the machine and the counter stopped ticking away.

No sooner had she picked up another tray of letters than the horn finally sounded. Leaving the full tray on the feed, she reached to hold back any more mail from being fed through the machine and gave it all a few seconds to clear before hitting the red button that powered the whole thing down. Jotting down her total mail run for the night up to this point, she joined her co-workers in their mass exodus from the floor to the break room, the floor seeming almost silent as it usually did once all the machines had been turned off.

Conversations started up as the workers moved in an untidy herd towards the exit and Elizabeth knew it was only a matter of time before Charlotte would catch up with her and pick up the threads of the conversation that they had started during the pre-shift meeting and continued at both their first break and their lunch hour.

The topic had been, of course, Mr. Bingley's apology to Jane. Since Elizabeth herself didn't have much firsthand knowledge of what had actually been said, their conversation had been full of speculation about all of the particulars but they had dwelt the longest on what Darcy's involvement might have been.

"I've been thinking," Charlotte said, jogging down the hallway to fall into step with Elizabeth, "Jane said he wasn't directly involved with whatever made Bingley break things off with her, right? The only thing I can think of that would be an indirect cause was if Darcy had said something-"

"Did you just say Darcy?" A new voice broke into the conversation and both women threw startled glances at the man who had joined them. It was George Wickham, and he seemed entirely unconscious of having broken into a private conversation, for he continued. "You don't mean William Darcy, do you?"

Elizabeth sighed internally and gave Charlotte a meaningful stare before replying. "Yes, George. She does mean William Darcy. What do you care?"

The defensiveness in her tone had everything to do with wanting to protect Jane's reputation among people who were unknown to her. Her sister would not be made into an object of general gossip among people who had no deeper connection to her than being co-workers with Elizabeth. Irritated that Charlotte, as the one person who did know Jane at least a little and who could therefore be a sounding board regarding the latest events, wasn't showing the same level of discretion, Elizabeth spoke far more sharply than she had intended.

George Wickham held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry," he said, flashing his white teeth in a charming smile. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. I'm just surprised that the news seems to be going around so fast."

They were in the lunchroom by this point and Elizabeth halted her progress towards the table that she and Charlotte usually sat at. "What news?" she demanded suspiciously.

George's face registered confusion. "So you don't know then? Sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything."

The words couldn't have inspired more curiosity had they been specifically designed to do so. The two women exchanged a look before Charlotte grasped Wickham firmly by his upper arm and steered him towards their table.

"You can't drop remarks like that and expect to get away without telling what you know," she informed him, her tone brusquely no-nonsense. "Sit." She shoved him gently towards a chair. "Talk."

"Oh, yes ma'am," he drawled, taking the chair he had been directed towards and offering up a wink and a smile. "But not for nothing. Do you actually know Darcy?"

"I know he's arrogant and high-handed," Elizabeth put in, plopping gracelessly into her own chair and putting her feet up on the unused fourth chair.

George laughed, throwing back his head as he did so, seeming genuinely amused at her assessment.

Elizabeth studied him a moment, trying to determine why they had never really spoken previously to now. He had made a few friendly overtures before and had always seemed genial and polite. He was good-looking too, not that such things really mattered, but neither did they hurt. He approached six feet in height and had a muscular solidity to him that was very attractive. When paired with his open face, guileless blue eyes, general propensity to laugh and his casually disarrayed honey-blonde locks, it wasn't hard to see why most of the women on the shift tended to gravitate towards him. Even the married ones fussed over him more than what was strictly necessary.

So he was friendly and good-looking and seemed intelligent. None of these were reasons to hold him at arm's length, but up to this point she had. Giving herself a reminder that not all men were going to be as arrogant as Darcy or as inconstant as Bingley, Elizabeth decided then and there to give friendship with George Wickham a chance.

"You _do_ know him," George was still grinning broadly. "I take it that he never took any pains to secure your good opinion."

"I don't believe he cares about anyone's opinions if they should happen to differ from his," Elizabeth replied dryly. "And yes. We had the misfortune to meet several times."

"You have my condolences," George responded solemnly. "I grew up with him myself. My father worked for his father and we had a boyhood friendship. It didn't last past Darcy gaining an understanding of how his sphere was so far removed from my own, I'm sorry to say."

Intrigued by this information, Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask a question but Charlotte was impatient to hear the gossip that George had hinted at earlier.

"He's a snob," she said. "We get it. What were you talking about earlier? What have you heard about him recently?"

"Ah. That." George rearranged his frame deliberately, as though trying to give himself more time to think of the phrasing he wished to use. Leaning back casually in his chair, he stretched long legs to rest his feet on the same chair that Elizabeth was using for the purpose.

Though their feet didn't touch, Elizabeth felt that the action was somehow intimate and she was briefly unsettled, wondering if she should remove her feet and put them safely on the floor and out of reach. But that was ridiculous. There was nothing implied in the gesture other than that he wished to relax while he had time to do so.

"I've been here since noon," George began. "I've been trying to pick up extra hours whenever I can and they were shorthanded on the day shift. So imagine my surprise when I'm on break and I see my former friend, the excellent William Darcy, walking around with the management like he owns the place."

"Please," Elizabeth snorted. "That's how he always walks."

George laughed again, the sound low and deep this time. Nodding and shooting a wink at Elizabeth, he agreed and continued. "He does.

"Anyway, I was curious as to why he might be here. I know enough about him from what you see in the papers to know that this is not the sort of industry that our mutual friend has ever been involved in before. Of course, he's often breaking into new areas, so I figured it wasn't entirely unlikely that he might be assessing the potential earnings of Blue Line."

Elizabeth groaned. "Oh, I hope not."

George shrugged. "I nosed around in the few minutes I had," he admitted. "Which means I tried to charm some information out of the secretarial staff. If rumor can be trusted, it seems that Darcy has already made the purchase of the company and we're all supposed to hear the announcement at the next shift meeting that we have new ownership.

"And," he added, voice growing softer, "it seems that I'll need to start looking for another job."

"_What?_" Charlotte and Elizabeth demanded nearly in unison.

"You think he'll have you _fired_?" Elizabeth was the one to finish the question.

He shrugged again, broad shoulders slumping. "If he ever finds out I'm employed here, sure. I could see him doing that. He's already run me out of one job, so why not do it again?"

"I can't believe the nerve of that guy," Elizabeth fumed, the bare fragments of that story having resonated deeply with her. Then a thought occurred. "Wait. He's already fired me once, too. Do you think _I'm_ going to get fired? He knows I work here!"

"Surely not," Charlotte said instantly, at the same time Wickham was nodding thoughtfully, as though he could easily picture such a thing occurring.

The last several minutes of their break were spent again in speculation, but this time it centered around what motives Darcy could possibly have for purchasing Blue Line and whether or when or how it might affect either Elizabeth or George.

Ending the discussion on a grim note, Elizabeth trudged back to her machine and felt her heart squeeze in surprise when she found Mr. Collins waiting there for her.

"Michael will be running this machine for you for a few minutes. We need to talk in my office."

Wondering if Darcy could possibly have moved so quickly as to have her fired without cause on the very day he took over the company, Elizabeth followed Collins to his office, half trembling with an equal blend of anxiety and indignation and half focused on inconsequential details such as wondering whether Collins were, in fact, sweating more profusely than he normally did.

If he was, it could be a bad sign for her. If he had been tasked with letting her go, he would know that the action would be unjust. Terminating someone's employment was the sort of decision that was largely left up to the shift managers who oversaw the employees and tracked their daily performance.

All at once, Elizabeth felt clammy and a wave of nausea swept over her. She was going to get fired. She just knew it.

Once in Collins' cluttered office, he shut the door. Another bad sign. On the other side of it, machines were once more whirring into life and the clatter of mail sounded as it was sorted into its bins.

Taking the unbalanced chair that Collins offered, Elizabeth waited with mounting nerves as he moved to sit behind his desk, looking and smelling as unpleasant as she had ever seen him.

_Let it be quick_, she prayed silently and then remembered that this was Collins. Quick was not in his nature. He would spend the next half hour detailing all the trumped up reasons why she was about to be let go and then finally get around to actually saying the words and escorting her out of the building.

She clenched her hands into fists in her lap and attempted to keep her face devoid of any emotion.

"As you know," Collins began and then instantly corrected himself. "No. That is to say. As you are unlikely in the extreme to know - for I myself have just found out this very day that these changes are afoot - er. There are changes to the company.

"My mother has always said changes are good. 'Sonny boy,' she tells me, 'changes are what keep life from getting stale.' And so I have found her to be correct in this, as she is correct in so many things. We shall undoubtedly see some fresh, er, changes in the coming days and I have been instructed by my superiors to tell you of the impact they will have on your particular situation."

Collins paused, clearing his throat loudly and fishing around in his pockets for a handkerchief which he at last produced and then used to mop his balding forehead.

"My particular situation?" Elizabeth echoed, just because she couldn't sit there in the suspended terror of total silence while she waited for him to get to the point.

"Yes, your particular situation. I understand that you had trained to be a secretary before coming to work with us?"

"Yes," Elizabeth acknowledged this cautiously, wondering what on earth that might have to do with anything.

"Excellent," Collins beamed, revealing discolored rows of crooked teeth. "A new position has been created on the day shift," he continued, throwing Elizabeth's grasp of the situation even more off-kilter. "It's uh-"

Elizabeth became aware that she was bouncing one leg in agitation, the motion causing her decrepit chair to rock back and forth, beating out an annoying tattoo on the cement floor. With great effort, she stilled herself, waiting as Collins sifted through the detritus on his desk and eventually came up with a crumpled piece of paper.

He consulted this, squinting at the handwritten notes, face relaxing back into placid slackness only once he had apparently deciphered their meaning. "Ah yes. There is a new secretarial position that will provide support to the main office. I have been instructed to urge you to apply for it."

Elizabeth was completely still now, digesting this revelation. So she was _not _to be fired, it seemed, but instead clumsily guided to a new opportunity that sounded as though it had been designed expressly for her.

For just a moment, she was tempted.

Then the anger began to burn low in her.

"Mr. Collins," she asked baldly, "were your instructions given to you from the new owner of Blue Line?"

He gaped at her, clearly surprised that she aware of the fact that Blue Line had been recently purchased. "W-well, yes," he stammered and then tried to catch himself. "Th-that is. I mean..."

Feeling her anger flame even higher, Elizabeth stood. With as much self-possession as she could muster, she spoke coolly to Collins, who was now squirming and sweating still more, having clearly divulged information that he had been instructed to keep secret.

"I thank you for passing along the information regarding this opportunity. I assure you that I will give it my fullest consideration."

Without waiting for him to make a response or to dismiss her, she turned on her heel and opened the door, letting the noisy bustle of the floor wash into the small office. Stepping out into the fresher air of the wide open space, she took a deep breath and stalked back to her machine and tapped Michael to let him know she was back and could take over.

For the last two hours of the night, she worked hard, concentrating as much as she could on the rhythm of throwing the mail, adjusting the feed and helping her sweepers man the side of the machine that she was on. When they finished the run, about a half hour before the next shit was due to arrive, she didn't slow her place as they pulled it down, putting sleeves over the trays to contain the sorted mail and pulling the heavy, full cages into the back part of the warehouse where the trays would be checked for accuracy, labeled and sent out the door.

But no matter how diligently she threw herself into her labors, it wasn't enough to distract her thoughts from what she had discovered this night.

Whatever his reasons might have been, Darcy had purchased Blue Line and apparently created a position that he wanted her to hold. It was all she knew for sure, and though she racked her brain for answers, she could not begin to guess at his motivations for such extraordinary actions.

By the time she arrived home, mentally and physically exhausted, she had arrived at a series of definite conclusions. First, whatever had caused Darcy to undertake this course of action didn't matter. Second, he was even more manipulative and controlling than she had originally given him credit for. Third, applying for that position was the _last _thing in the world she could possibly be tempted to do.

If Darcy desired a thing and it was in her power to affect the outcome, she would defy him. He would never be permitted to have even an ounce of mastery over her life.

Resolved, she at last passed into a restless and uncomfortable sleep where Darcy invaded her life once more, haughtily informing her that he knew what was best for her and that she had better do as he said.

It was _not_ a good night.

* * *

**A/N:** I barely managed to get this written and it only got a cursory once-over from me. So yeah. Hope it's not too riddled with mistakes.

On the plus side, my boss did some interviews last week so we're at least one step closer to my not having to do the work of two people. Back to the minus side, it's been a freaking **month** already so I'm guessing the most optimistic outlook is getting help (and therefore my writing time back) sometime in the middle of next month.

Next up, the dinner. I'm going to warn you all in advance that writing big group scenes is not a strong suit of mine, so I expect the chapter to be tricky to write as well as being fun to work on. Hopefully we won't see posting delays, but it's a possibility.


	17. Chapter 17

A typical meal at the Bennet household could best be described as chaotic. Mrs. Bennet lived for these family gatherings, storing up several weeks' worth of gossip, complaints and pointed remarks that were intended to bring her two eldest daughters into a more desirable state of life: namely, the marriage state.

In an effort to head off some of the emotional hysterics that would invariably occur, Jane and Elizabeth planned to go over earlier than the scheduled dinner time. The hope - possibly a vain one - was that by breaking the news of Charles Bingley's forthcoming presence well in advance of his actual arrival, Mrs. Bennet would have the opportunity to get her initial reaction over the news out of the way and perhaps show a bit more decorum when actually face to face with their guest.

Having arrived at their parent's modest house several minutes past, Jane and Elizabeth hesitated outside as the elder woman attempted, with limited success, to assure herself that all the stars in heaven would align perfectly and somehow, miraculously, this dinner would go well.

Aware of what Jane must be feeling, Elizabeth remained with her as she delayed going inside and breaking the news. She chose not to say anything, but to lend Jane silent support and give her encouraging smiles whenever their eyes met.

"This is ridiculous," Jane huffed at last, turning with decision towards the door. "The sooner I tell her, the more time she'll have to calm down."

Thinking privately that Mrs. Bennet had never in her life missed an opportunity to demonstrate the full extent of her sense of the dramatic, Elizabeth nevertheless agreed that it would be better to just get it over with.

"It's like a bandaid. One quick tug, a_ lot_ of shouting, and then it's done," she assured Jane.

"Just... stay with me," Jane asked faintly. "But let me handle Mama."

"Oh, I would only make things worse," Elizabeth observed cheerfully. "She's all yours."

On a final deep breath, Jane pushed open the front door without knocking. Her determined progress into the house ended as suddenly as it began as she came up short with a horrified expression on her face.

A step or two behind, Elizabeth was on the point of asking what the matter was and then the awful scent hit her, too. Making a gagging noise, she retreated back outside, pulling the door wide open and leaning away from the house.

"What is that?" she demanded, waving her free hand frantically in front of her face. "It's the most awful thing I've ever smelled."

Jane had followed her out and now looked pale, whether from forcibly suppressing the churning in her stomach that threatened to bring up her last meal or from the fresh realization of horror at the prospect of having Bingley over to a house that smelled so vile was unclear.

"I don't know," she panted. "It's like someone set a rotting garbage heap on fire."

Elizabeth groaned, closing her eyes and scrunching up her face. "I could do without the visualizations."

"Sorry." Jane paused and then peered back into the house, clearly unwilling to actually move any closer to it. "Do you think anyone is in there? Or conscious? Because I hate to be grim, I really do, but I don't see how anyone could stand being inside right now."

As if in answer to the unspoken question about whether any of their family were actually alive, a shrill cry rang out from the interior of the house. "Oh! Mr. Bennet! This house is so drafty and unpleasant. I am sure we shall all catch our deaths if you do not do something about it. You must come and see where all this cold air is coming from!"

The sound of her voice grew closer as she continued; Mrs. Bennet was clearly coming to investigate the source of the cold, fresh air herself.

She came into view and stopped inside, frowning in instant disapproval at Elizabeth who was still holding the door open.

"What are you thinking of?" she scolded. "Holding the door open when it is so cold and miserable outside. Are you trying to run us into the poorhouse? It costs money, you know, to keep a house warm when the weather has gotten to be so bad. Why do you just stand there like that? Come inside and close the door!"

"Mama," Jane broke in, her voice gentle in the way it usually was when she was trying to talk sense to her flighty parent. "You must surely be aware of how terrible it smells in there. What happened? Did something die?"

Mrs. Bennet's face screwed up into a puzzled expression. "Did something die?" she echoed. "What nonsense! What would have died in here?"

"I don't know, Mama. But, that smell," Jane trailed off helplessly.

"Oh! I suppose that will be Lydia's contribution to supper. Or it was meant to be, before the oven malfunctioned so badly - everything in this house is _quite_ decrepit, you know - and burnt the poor dear's dish all to ruin! She was _most terribly_ distraught, I can assure you!

"But do stop standing about letting all this cold air in!" The disapproving frown was back as she rounded on Elizabeth. "Just come inside and in only a few moments you won't even notice any smells."

Exchanging helpless looks, Jane and Elizabeth both moved to do as their mother commanded, Elizabeth privately plotting to open a few key windows or doors to encourage some air flow through the house. As soon as Jane got around to telling her mother the happy news of Bingley's forthcoming arrival, Mrs. Bennet would be sure to be suitably distracted from noticing anything so trivial as a draft.

They followed Mrs. Bennet to the small parlor with west-facing windows that would have admitted what sunlight there was had the curtains not been drawn tightly against the outdoors. An aldetric lamp cast a pool of yellow light, but the whole room had a dismal air that spoke of poverty or depression or neglect.

Catching Jane's petrified expression, Elizabeth decided at once that her sister would require a small push. Moving with decision, she strode past where her mother was settling herself onto the end of the couch closest to the lamp and grasped the edges of the curtains and flung them apart.

"This room needs a bit more light," Elizabeth declared, speaking loudly over Mrs. Bennet's immediate and piercing cry of distaste. "And I think we need to spruce things up a bit," she continued, casting an eye at the dusty surfaces and random bits of household clutter.

"Spruce up?" Mrs. Bennet managed to actually sound both shocked and disapproving as she opposed her step-daughter's words. "I don't see why we should. I imagine you suppose that this standard of living isn't quite up to your expectations, hmm? I imagine you fancy yourself to be a better housekeeper than I am, never mind that you are young and strong and unburdened with by the cares of a husband or children!"

She was poised to continue the rant, Elizabeth could tell. Thankfully, Jane broke in at her mother's pause for breath.

"Mama, you know Elizabeth would never think any such thing," she admonished. "She is only concerned for my sake."

"For your sake?" Mrs. Bennet's face softened predictably as she returned her attention to her eldest daughter, but her voice and fears were no less strident. "Are you feeling well? Oh! When I think of you surrounded by all those little germ factories all day, every day when you could have remained here and not had to pay rent and suffer in that wretched flat you have, it nearly breaks my heart!"

"I am not ill," Jane replied patiently, once again taking advantage of a pause for breath.

Behind Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth pantomimed ripping a bandage off her arm before mouthing the words _just tell her_.

"I have invited a friend to join us today," Jane said, giving Elizabeth a wide-eyed look of helplessness. "He is very impor-"

"He?" Mrs. Bennet demanded, her voice somehow managing to achieve another octave in pitch as she shrieked the question. "You have a man joining us today?"

Hardly giving Jane the opportunity to reply, Mrs. Bennet rose, looking about the room wildly and calling loudly for her husband and Lydia to attend to her at once. In between shouting their names, she issued a steady stream of contradictory orders regarding how the house ought to be cleaned, which rooms needed the most immediate attention and who ought to see to what. Occasionally, she would ask a question about this friend of Jane's. What was his name? What did he do? Did he have a good income? How could Jane be so sly as to keep news of such great import from her own mother right up until it was almost too late to make the house presentable?

Giving her sister a look of laughing compassion, Elizabeth quietly slipped out of the room which was now a whirlwind of frantic activity and noise, leaving Jane to try to stem the hysterical tide as much as possible.

Keeping in mind that her mother had said the source of the awful stench that still permeated the house had originated in the kitchen, she made for that room first, meeting Lydia in the hallway as her younger half-sister made her way to investigate the great tumult of noise that could be clearly heard from probably any point within fifteen yards.

"Lord," Lydia said upon seeing Elizabeth, "what is Mama fussing about?"

Elizabeth grinned. "Jane has just informed her that she invited a guest to supper."

"Oh," Lydia looked unimpressed, her round face losing the interest that had temporarily lightened her features. "I don't see why that should be a cause for such a racket."

"You know Mama," Elizabeth replied lightly. "Besides, Jane's friend is a Mr. Bingley, and I am sure you can _now_ guess at the reason for all the excitement."

"Oh!" Lydia came alive once more, clapping her hands together and holding them under her chin in a gesture that perfectly imitated one made frequently by Mrs. Bennet. "Jane and a man! How exciting that is! Are you certain they are just friends, Lizzy? Or does he mean to marry her?"

Not for the first time, Elizabeth found herself reflecting that this particular apple did not manage to fall even an inch away from the tree, and she sighed internally before redirecting her younger half-sister away.

"I believe that Mama is attempting to get Jane to admit to that very thing right now. Perhaps you had better go and see why she has been calling for you?"

With a squeal, Lydia was off, light brown curls bouncing in time with her hurried gait.

Repressing a sense of guilt at having abandoned Jane to deal with both mother and sister, Elizabeth continued on to the kitchen, a small room that was made to feel smaller by dark cabinets and an excessive amount of clutter on the limited counter space. There was one window over the sink and this admitted what little light it could, being inconveniently north-facing.

A charred ruin made of ingredients Elizabeth could only guess at sat squat and sullen on the stovetop. The smell in the kitchen was, if anything, ten times as putrid at it had been at the front of the house. Wondering at the mindset of people who could manage to ignore and fail to deal with a problem such as this, Elizabeth repressed the urge to heave a sigh (not wishing to take the deep breath such an action would require) and set to work.

The dish went directly into the trash, along with several other items of questionable nature that were near to hand. Stale bread, overripe fruit, empty containers and unscraped plates of leftover meals contributed to the general miasma.

Mrs. Bennet was a lazy housekeeper, but this was beyond the pale. Wondering at what could be going on in the house to demand so much attention that not even a pretense of keeping up with chores was maintained, Elizabeth worked in a grim silence until she had collected everything that could be thrown out.

Prying the window open to let the kitchen begin to air out a bit, she took the collected garbage out of the house to the bins that stood just outside the back door. Even standing right next to those, the air smelt so much fresher out of doors and she stood for a long moment, turned away from the bins and gulping down great lungfuls.

At last sated, Elizabeth turned back to the house, feeling a measure of reluctance as she did so. She had expected nothing better than the conditions that she found in the Bennet household. Growing up, she and Jane had often been responsible for managing the house. Ever since they had moved out, there had been a steady decline in terms of cleanliness and maintenance. She had first thought that eventually the lack of clean dishes and clothes or the inconvenience of not being able to find anything in the disorganized piles of clutter would eventually have some effect on the remaining inhabitants. Mr. Bennet might demand that Lydia actually take on more of the chores that had been Elizabeth and Jane's. Mrs. Bennet might gradually change her lazy ways.

Such was apparently not to be the case. Each time they visited, it was worse than the time before. For her part, Elizabeth did not know whether to burn more with anger or with shame. She felt both emotions equally, the anger at having been responsible for the upkeep of a family home with little thanks and not even the courtesy of continued care to demonstrate the value of the service and the shame at having come from such a family, where preference for one child was made clear in a way that was detrimental to that child.

Lydia seemed more likely than not to grow up without having ever been forced to learn anything that might be construed as a useful skill. It was a concern, but not one that Elizabeth felt she could deal with properly in that moment. After all, Charles Bingley was going to arrive within a few hours. She could do nothing to improve her family or make them more presentable, but she would do what she could to improve the house. And though her mother might think that the act was for her, Elizabeth would know and _Jane_ would know that it was all for Jane's sake.

* * *

Much was accomplished in the time they had before Charles Bingley at last arrived. The door chimes sounded promptly at 7:00, and Elizabeth spared a glance from putting the final touches on garnishing the serving platters to share a knowing smile with Jane.

Charles Bingley, careless and easy going and usually late, was _exactly_ on time.

The moment was immediately shattered by a flurry of activity from Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, both of whom had been gently pressed into service by Jane. Lydia had been setting the table, but at the sound of the summons to the door, immediately dropped her handful of silverware with a clatter, exclaiming, "Oooh, Jane! Who do you think it is? Could it be your _lover_?"

"Lydia!" Elizabeth reprimanded the younger girl sharply. "Do remember what you were told about saying such things!"

Lydia turned long enough to put out her tongue at her older sister and then said defiantly, "I do remember. And besides, the rule was to mind myself when he was here and as he hasn't made it in the door yet, I can say anything I like."

Jane had whipped off her apron during this exchange and crossed from the counter where she had been working to head towards the front door. Her cheeks were stained red, but whether it was from the heat of the stove or the inappropriateness of Lydia's remarks, she still managed to only look more beautiful for it.

"Now Jane," Mrs. Bennet lectured from her chair where she had at last consented to fold some napkins, "be sure to keep that demure look about you as you greet your beau.

"Lizzy! Fetch your father from his study. And remind him that he is sure to be greeting his future son-in-law tonight and to keep some civil manners for a change!"

Giving Jane a compassionate look that was far from being the first or last one of the day, Elizabeth left to do as she was told, happy enough to escape witnessing the awkward greeting Mr. Bingley was sure to receive from her family.

Heading up the stairs to her father's sanctuary, Elizabeth rapped lightly on the closed door and waited until she heard his voice calling for her to enter before slipping inside.

"Ah, Lizzy," he greeted her, looking up from a worn book as she entered, "it would seem that there is some sort of extra excitement surrounding this evening's dinner. I take it Jane's young man has arrived?"

"I am certain he must be at the door right now," Elizabeth replied, slumping against the wall. "Mama says to remind you to be civil this evening."

"Does she?" Mr. Bennet briefly returned his attention to his book, his sanctuary within his sanctuary. He had once said he needed a place for his mind to retreat from life in his household as much as he required the physical retreat into this room. Elizabeth might have resented the sentiment had he not often allowed her to escape with him from the terror that was Fanny Bennet.

"And what do you think, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet asked after a pause, finally setting his book aside, his place carefully marked with a bookmark that Elizabeth had made for him when she had been a child. "Is this young man worth the effort of civility?"

"Papa," Elizabeth scolded gently. "Of course you must be nice to him. He means a great deal to Jane."

"From what information do you draw such a conclusion?" Mr. Bennet asked, blinking in apparent surprise. "Surely not by the fact that she has brought him to her home to meet her dear mama and ignorant sister. I should have taken that for a strategy to scare him off."

"Perhaps she has brought him to secure _your_ good opinion."

"Doubtful." Mr Bennet sniffed as he stood and stretched leisurely before crossing the room to stand near his daughter at the door. But he seemed pleased at the notion rather than wholly dismissive of it.

"Well then," he cocked an inviting eyebrow at Elizabeth, who straightened and stepped away from her resting spot against the wall. "Shall we go down and rescue this Bingley from having to be polite in the face of the most ridiculous nonsense he's likely to have ever encountered?"

Laughing, Elizabeth agreed and they descended the stairs together, the hubbub of Bingley's self-appointed welcoming committee audible long before they were visible. Sharing a grimace with her father just before they entered the small living room just off the entrance, Elizabeth hastily rearranged her face into a welcoming smile.

The scene that met her eyes could have been comical in the extreme had she not cared so much for Jane's happiness. Bingley stood pressed almost against a wall, a smile of determined friendliness on his lips but a touch of panic around his eyes. Lydia and Mrs. Bennet, both so short by comparison to his lean height, all but frisked about him like over-eager puppies.

Had this been the woods, Bingley would have been a cornered stag and the Bennets a pack of ill-trained hunting dogs.

But that was not the worst of it, as Elizabeth immediately saw. For Bingley had brought along a guest and that tall figure was holding itself with rigid disdain, looking almost on the verge of flight but having nowhere to go that was not blocked by the energetic yapping of Mrs. Bennet or Lydia.

On the edge of this tableaux stood Jane, blushing red in mortification but clearly at a loss for how to handle it. Elizabeth wasn't certain that she had any better notions, but she gamely broadened her smile and moved to meet the guests.

"Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, how nice to see you both!" she greeted them enthusiastically, subtly herding Lydia out of the way to allow them both a path out of the corner they had been backed into. She drew them past an abruptly silenced Mrs. Bennet by extending an arm in the general direction of the room's entrance where Mr. Bennet stood observing and, from the sparkle in his eyes, undoubtedly laughing to himself. "May I introduce you both to my father?"

After making all the parties acquainted with each other, she beckoned Jane to her side and gave her a nudge in the form of an encouraging smile. "I'll just leave you to get to know each other then. If you'll excuse me, I just need to check one or two things in the dining room."

She gave Lydia and Mrs. Bennet meaningful looks as she turned to go, not at all surprised when Mrs. Bennet remained wholly oblivious and Lydia purposefully turned up her nose in response to the silent hint to absent herself.

Aggravated and hoping her family wouldn't embarass themselves too badly, she went to hastily arrange another spot at the already cramped table for Caroline Bingley, wondering the whole while what it meant that Charles would think to bring her at all and what sort of impact her presence would have on what was already certain to be a difficult evening.

"Oh Jane," she murmured, finishing the small chores left undone by her flighty mother and sister, "I hope this wasn't an enormous mistake."

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, hullo there. Sorry to have fallen off the face of the earth so completely. The whole "alone at work" thing nearly killed me and ever since I've been **not** alone at work, I've been wishing for a return to that state of affairs. It's not that I liked being alone, _per se_. It's more than my new coworker is dumber than a whole sack of Mr. Collins. There's also been a bout of illness for me, a longer bout for The Husband and some oral surgery thrown in for good measure.

Anyhow, life has been dicey lately! I worked on this chapter as I was able and will start on the next as soon as I get this posted (assuming work doesn't throw me any curve balls), but I'm afraid I'm off the weekly posting schedule for the foreseeable future. And I know I promised you all the dinner, but this was running so long that I had to let the Bennets be themselves _by themselve_s for a bit and will add dear Caroline to the mix in the next chapter. It should be fun. Like mixing explosives and open flames is fun.

As always, thanks to everyone who sticks with me through this thing. Much love to those who are kind enough to leave a comment. I totally look them over when I'm having a rough day and can't find any motivation. It never fails to cheer me up and inspire me!


	18. Chapter 18

Elizabeth was still in the kitchen by the time the Bennet family and their guests made their way, _en masse_, to the dining room. They came in a noisy cavalcade; Mrs. Bennet was asking impertinent questions that _just_ flirted with the edges of propriety and Mr. Bingley was doing his best to answer them and to find something good to say about the "charming" nature of the house. Caroline Bingley trailed in their wake, sniffing with what might be anything from derision to a reaction to the faintly lingering smell of Lydia's ruined dish, or the amount of dust stirred up that day or, perhaps, as an allergic reaction to some plant matter that might have made it in during the course of the afternoon and early evening while the windows had been opened to let the house air out.

Lydia and Jane came next, Lydia still making any number of juvenile suppositions about the relationship between Jane and Mr. Bingley and poor Jane, finding even her saintly patience wearing thin, was hissing at Lydia to be quiet.

At the very end was the only silent member of the party, but the gleam in Mr. Bennet's eye and his barely suppressed look of amusement spoke volumes. He would be of no help in keeping either his wife or youngest daughter in check, preferring instead to take a perverse sort of pleasure in watching them make fools of the whole family.

The table was as ready as it could be made, groaning nearly audibly under the weight of the dishes and place settings set upon it. It sat four very comfortably under normal circumstances, and having six diners would have been cozy but still allowed for each person to have at least a bit of elbow room. Seven was perhaps the most people it had ever seen at all one time and looking at the arrangement of chairs and place settings brought the phrase "crammed cheek by jowl" vividly to mind.

With a great deal of fuss and apologies from the more polite members of the party, everyone was at last settled into a chair.

There was an awkward pause as the Bingleys looked to the heads of the Bennet family to lead the way with the serving of the meal, but Mr. Bennet was distracted with an aside to Jane and Mrs. Bennet seemed to relish the bizarre sense of anticipation and made no move to reach for a dish.

Since the family normally dined casually and simply passed things around and stood on no ceremony, Elizabeth began to reach for the platter nearest at hand, intending to offer it directly to Mr. Bingley, who sat on her right.

"Elizabeth!" Mrs. Bennet called sharply, effectively silencing the other murmurs of conversation at the table. "What _can_ you be thinking? We haven't blessed the meal yet."

Without missing a beat, she turned her attention to Mr. Bingley and gave him a simpering smile while fluttering her lashes exaggeratedly. "I do promise that I didn't raise these girls to be heathens! Elizabeth has just never had a sense of what is proper! You mustn't think her behavior is an accurate reflection on the rest of the family."

"But, Mama," Lydia interjected, obviously confused, "we never pray over the meal."

"Hush, Lyddie!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "I never heard such nonsense! 'We never pray-' Indeed!"

Face burning with a mixture of fury and embarrassment, Elizabeth thought savagely, _Please! Don't make the mistake of thinking I am _anything_ like my ridiculous stepmother or my ignorant sister!_

In the next minute, she was wishing with some vehemence that she could simply disappear altogether and never associate with her family ever again. In an act that seemed designed to utterly mortify everyone at the table, Mrs. Bennet launched into a sort of chanting prayer, complete with hand gestures that made Lydia and Caroline (her neighbors to either side) have to dodge out of the way or else be struck in the face.

Elizabeth risked a glance around the table, taking in the offended look on Miss Bingley's face as she leaned away from Mrs. Bennet and closer to Mr. Bennet, who looked more amused than ever. Jane's face was not visible at all, as she had bowed her head and buried her face in her hands; the posture might have been inspired by either piety or pudency, but Elizabeth would have wagered on it being the latter.

Charles Bingley appeared bemused, looking from Mrs. Bennet to Jane in some consternation. He seemed concerned for Jane's sake but was clearly unsure whether he could or should do anything for her.

Lydia was leaning uncomfortably onto Elizabeth's left side, shaking with her not at all silent laughter. In response to the noise, Mrs. Bennet increased in volume, her voice unwisely leaping up an octave or two, landing on the notes with cracked imperfection. Wincing, Elizabeth fought the urge to cover her ears with her hands and rudely elbowed Lydia in an attempt to get her to move or to shut up. For her pains, Lydia shoved her back, sending her nearly crashing into Bingley's shoulder.

He startled and looked down, giving her a wry smile in response to the way she mouthed "Sorry" up at him.

Bingley's gaze returned to Mrs. Bennet for a brief moment before he gave a little shrug, winked in a way that seemed to indicate he was willing to overlook the insanity that had gripped the table and returned his attention to Jane.

It was in that moment that Elizabeth knew that the man on her right was utterly and without question the most perfect man that her sister could ever have fallen for.

To distract herself from her mother's continued keening, she ruminated briefly on the horrifying question of what his odious friend, Mr. Darcy, would think if confronted with such a display of social ineptitude.

It seemed likely that he would be behaving much as Caroline Bingley currently was, that lady scarcely making any effort whatsoever to hide her distaste for everyone and everything about her. Had Mr. Darcy actually been a witness to this scene, Elizabeth might have expired on the spot, for he would certainly have taken it as confirmation that his low opinion of her was natural and just. But he was _not_ here and it was, therefore, amusing to imagine him sitting next to Miss Bingley, each of them wearing identical expressions of disgust.

"Madam," he might say, interrupting Mrs. Bennet's awful wailing and silencing her altogether with one of his cold, disapproving looks, "I beg you to cease that racket at once. Anyone walking by outside might imagine you to be torturing felines and I cannot be seen in the company of anyone less perfect than I. In fact, I shall leave you now as nearly everyone in this assembly is beneath my regard."

Coming out of her imaginings to find Miss Bingley doing a creditable job at imitating the expression she had just been picturing on a decidedly more masculine if no more haughty face, Elizabeth could not help but think how perfect the pair would be for each other.

However much he might have redeemed himself in her eyes tonight, Bingley's unfortunate taste in friends remained as a strike against him. She would have liked to hold his sister's rude behavior against him as well, but with another glance around the table as everyone exhaled in relief at the "prayer" being over, she had to admit that one could not choose one's family and nor should they be made to be accountable for having the misfortune of being related to less than desirable people.

* * *

Restored by having been able to find a way to laugh over her stepmother's ridiculous antics and reassured that Mrs. Bennet's outlandish behavior hadn't been enough to immediately persuade Bingley to flee in terror, Elizabeth did her best during supper to keep the general conversation to topics that were both appropriate and interesting.

Having foreseen the need to play a role such as conversation mediator, she was instantly able to break into her stepmother's less than subtle line of inquiry about the seriousness of Jane and Bingley's relationship with an observation about how cold it was getting with the holidays just around the corner.

Thankfully, Mr. Bingley took the conversational thread and ran with it, saying wistfully that it was his favorite time of year.

"Is that because of the holidays or the weather?" Elizabeth laughed back at him. "For I cannot fathom that even you, who seem so eager to be pleased by life's vagaries, can be charmed by grey skies and endless rain."

"Look at me," Lydia piped up, mocking. "I use big words and talk about dull things like _the weather_."

It was, unexpectedly, Caroline Bingley who took it upon herself to reply to Lydia's impertinence. "Of course it's the holidays that Charles looks forward to," she sniffed. "He is as giddy as a child about them."

To her right, Mr. Bingley laughed as though his sister had been implying some sort of joke. Seeming wholly unperturbed by the censure that had been readily apparent in Caroline's words and tone, he replied cheerfully. "I own that I am! But there is nothing wrong with that. We are all far too grown up and dull the rest of the year; why should we not make merry when we have the opportunity?"

"Indeed," Jane put in, seeming to have regained some of her composure. She sent a brilliant smile Bingley's way. "It is very evident that children see the world through eyes that believe in magic and every good possibility. This time of year especially, they are so alive with wonder and happiness. It's a joy simply to be around them, and for my part, I would wish to emulate some of their behavior."

"Only _some_ of their behavior, my dear Jane," Mr. Bennet put in, unable to let the opportunity for his favorite remark to slide. "But take care you do not become as silly and ignorant as your youngest sister in the process."

Every eye at the table slid to look at Lydia, who seemed wholly unaffected and merely continued eating with the sort of gusto one might indeed find in an ill mannered child.

"I think it would be easier to let ourselves remain so innocently childlike if we did not always have to work so hard," Elizabeth spoke almost without thinking about what she was saying, she was so eager to get the conversation back into neutral territory. "Although I suppose even our workplaces make some effort to give us a sense of holiday. Blue Line is having a party at the end of this week."

"Oh, a party!" Mrs. Bennet could always be counted on to react with exuberant delight to the prospect of any party, no matter if it was to be a dull work affair to which she was not even invited.

"That is very good of them to do," she approved. "Will there be dancing?"

"I doubt it, Mama," Elizabeth managed. "But I have heard they are having a meal catered and will give us a break of a few hours. It is, perhaps, the only good thing about working the hours that I do. Anyone from another shift who chooses to attend will not be paid to come in. "

"What hours do you work?" Caroline asked, smirking.

"I go in at four in the afternoon."

"And you work for Blue Line?" Caroline pursued. Her manner was almost gloating now, as though she had just discovered some particularly juicy secret. "That name seems familiar somehow, but I cannot place what they do."

"You heard it from Darcy," Mr. Bingley informed his sister, dabbing at his lips with his napkin in an altogether too casual manner. "Do you not recall? When he was last over for supper he mentioned having recently purchased it."

"Who is this Darcy?" Mrs. Bennet broke in. "Some great friend of yours, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes," Bingley replied, still too casual. "We met in school and he knows more about business than I shall ever be able to retain. He is a very great help to me in matters of running a company."

Elizabeth could see what her stepmother was thinking as she digested that piece of information. In order to head off whatever grossly impolite speculation about Darcy's wealth the other woman was about to make, she turned to address Mr. Bingley.

"I was quite shocked when I heard Mr. Darcy had bought Blue Line. I do hope he is not in the habit of dismantling companies for the sake of profit. It would be so vexing to find myself out of a job thanks to him."

Bingley choked and Jane shot Elizabeth a warning look. The rest of the Bennets looked on with renewed interest, knowing that they were not privy to whatever meaning Elizabeth had intended. No one, it seemed, but Caroline Bingley had any sort of ready response to that barbed remark.

"It is obvious to me that you cannot know Mr. Darcy very well at all if that is what you think," she said, coolly indignant. "Why, there he is doing everything he can in this terrible economy to save jobs or even create them, but all anyone can see is that he is at the head of a large and growing corporation."

_Including you_, Elizabeth thought cynically. _You're so in love with his pocketbook that you are blind to his faults and virtues alike! _

She was so startled by her own thought, at having ascribed Darcy _some_ virtue, that the next few moments of conversation quite eluded her. But of course the man had to have some good characteristics, she scolded herself. Else he could not possibly have the respect he had, not from his fellow businessmen and not from decent men like Charles Bingley. Satisfied that she was only being fair in allowing him not to be wholly without redeeming qualities, she returned her attention to the conversation at hand and was baffled at finding the conversation had turned to a rather lively debate on the merits of automobiles and the likelihood that they would eventually become the default mode of transportation, replacing horses and carriages altogether.

The rest of the evening passed along in a similar manner, with Elizabeth running interference on troublesome topics and Jane and Mr. Bingley both seeming willing to assist with keeping conversation to determinedly neutral ground. Mrs. Bennet could never be wholly repressed and nor, it seemed, could Lydia. Each of them made several remarks that had Jane and Elizabeth blushing in mortification.

But if they were impolite and improper, Miss Bingley hardly fared any better, at least in Elizabeth's estimation. Her words were always very civil, but her smiles and her tone were often cutting or disdainful. Mr. Bingley seemed wholly unaware of her superciliousness, or at least made a good pretense of not noticing. In any event, he did not correct her or give her so little as a warning look.

In this interaction, Elizabeth could see the mirror of the relationship her own father had with his family. As the head of the household, he really ought to have been curbing the more outrageous behavior, rather than laughing at it and mocking his wife and daughter. What a boon then, a stronger man might be!

Nice and pleasant as Mr. Bingley was, Elizabeth knew that she could never wholly respect him so long as he continued to let his sister run amok in such a fashion. Dearly as she loved Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth knew she did not altogether respect him in the way she felt that she ought. And while Jane was made from very different stuff and might not have the same issues that Elizabeth would, Elizabeth worried that Jane had not thought enough about whether she could be happy with Mr. Bingley when he was so permissive.

Resolving to talk it over with her elder sister at the earliest opportunity, Elizabeth somehow made it through the rest of the night without thinking more than once or twice about Mr. Darcy and about how_ he_ seemed to command respect even when he had done very little to earn it.

* * *

**A/N:** Good news, everyone! I've actually finished writing the rest of this and will be able to post it on a weekly basis from here on out.

Okay. That's a _lie_. April Fool's?

Sorry this one is so short and that it took so long. I fear it will be a bit unsatisfying, but it did allow me to start nudging Elizabeth in the right direction. And I hope you can all pick up what I put down to guess what we'll be seeing in the next chapter. /eyebrow waggle

Speaking of which...

I don't think I have ever replied to a review in so public a fashion, but I am going to take a moment to do so now. This is mostly because I couldn't PM, but also because I want to let everyone know what to expect. Regarding the comments urging me to "get to the good stuff already," I want to get to the "good stuff" - really. I do! I want to have Darcy and Lizzie be around each other and I want to write all the delicate unfurling of their secrets and their love. However, I don't want to do that the expense of the whole story. No one has a life that can center around just one thing, so we will be seeing more of all of Elizabeth's life, whether that's work or Jane or her family. Ditto for Darcy. If you're looking for instant gratification, you may want to find another story to read. Or just stop reading this one until it's finished, haha.

Okay, I'm done and hopefully that doesn't sound rude. I just wanted to let people know I will be taking my time and not rushing ahead. No matter how much I want to.

If you're still with me or if you're new, thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read! And if someone out there recc'ed me (as I suspect may have happened given the amount of new followers I've seen in the past few weeks), please let me know so I can thank you directly! I appreciate it!


	19. Chapter 19

Turning off her machine at the sound of the horn, Elizabeth took a quick glance over her filled-out operator's log before laying down her pen and heading off the floor towards the break room. The sound of rushing footsteps behind her alerted her to Charlotte's approach just in time to brace for the overly-exuberant way in which her friend threw an arm around her neck.

"I'm done, I'm done, I'm done forever!" Charlotte chanted, skipping a little.

"Char!" Elizabeth protested, laughing at the other woman's antics. "You could at least _pretend _you're going to miss me."

"No, I can't," Charlotte protested airily, releasing Elizabeth to pull open the door that led into the main hallway. "Because you're going to come and visit me on occasion at my new desk and we'll definitely stay in touch outside of this place."

It was Charlotte's last day as a sweeper on their shift. Beginning the next week, she would be taking the secretarial position that had been created on the day shift, a prospect that had made her almost annoyingly cheerful.

"I still don't understand why you didn't even go for the job," Charlotte commented, despite their having had this particular conversation two or three times already. "I mean, you say what you like about the timing of things, but it's still better hours, better pay and better _work_."

Elizabeth shook her head. "You know I can't trust anything that relates to _him_." They had stopped using Mr. Darcy's name in conversation since he had become the new owner of Blue Line. Not wanting to gossip openly about a man with that much direct power over their employment, Darcy had simply become "_him_," always spoken with heavy emphasis.

"Besides, I'm not sure I'd want to go sit at a desk any more. I_ like_ operating."

She loved it, actually. Elizabeth would cheerfully never sweep again, but operating was different. There was something almost heady about standing at the head of that machine, keeping it fed and tracking her progress. It wasn't as monotonous or stressful as sweeping had been. It was up to her to make certain she was pulling the correct mail and tracking it accurately. It was up to her to keep everything moving at a pace her sweepers could handle but still try to sort the highest possible average of mail every hour. She relished all the different challenges about the job and couldn't begin to fathom wanting to sit at a desk and take dictation.

"But you don't get to operate all the time," Charlotte pointed out.

"True," Elizabeth allowed. "But I think with you being out of the running for a spot, there's a chance I'll get promoted to a level two operator within a month or so. And Collins said that he was planning on sending me back to scanning for cross-training. I would love to run that area!"

"But-" Charlotte began another protest.

"But, _nothing_. I'm happy, Charlotte. I'm happy for you! You shouldn't feel guilty about going for or getting something I was always going to pass on. I just hope you'll like it as much as you think you will."

Privately, Elizabeth thought her friend was taking something of a risky move in applying for the secretarial position, let alone accepting it. She had gone so far as to try to talk Charlotte out of it, not because she wanted it for herself but because it did come from Darcy and it seemed like such an unnecessary position within the current framework of the company. Elizabeth still maintained it was an attempt at controlling her. Charlotte more optimistically believed it was offered to Elizabeth out of guilt.

Either way, it seemed like an untenable situation to Elizabeth but she had finally bowed to Charlotte's demands that she be supportive. It was, after all, the least she could do for her friend.

In any event, it was Charlotte's last night on the shift and that just happened to coincide with the holiday party that was being held. Despite initial reports of it being only a catered meal and a longer lunch for those on the swing shift, it had actually been extended to include some remarks from management and a full four hours of festivities. There was food, but no spirits, as it wouldn't have been fair to expect the overnight shift to abstain in order to run their machines safely. The food, however, came from one of the city's very best caterers rather than being the sort of overcooked mystery meat in greasy sauces that was the standard fare for such corporate events.

They reached the lunch room to find it already quite crowded with people from other shifts. Thanks to the half hour overlap of shifts that happened each day as well as from the occasional stint of overtime, Elizabeth had at least a passing familiarity with many of them. She and Charlotte fell into line for the buffet-style meal and quickly struck up an easy conversation with the man ahead of them who was an outrageous flirt from the day shift. That Mark was well into his upper 60's and lacked a great deal in the way of teeth never impaired his smooth remarks and he was a general favorite with everyone.

Once their plates were full, they parted company with David. Charlotte and Elizabeth's regular table was taken by a small crowd from the overnight shift but they were able to secure an empty table on the outskirts of the room. It was near to the windows and a glance outside showed snow coming down in a delirious flurry, seeming almost to riot in the beams of light cast by the aldetric lamps that were spaced evenly around the front of the building.

"I still can't believe George didn't come to work today," Charlotte exclaimed, even as she started to dig into the bounty of food on her plate. "He's going to be upset when he hears what he missed out on."

"Did you hear why he's not here?" Elizabeth asked. "I hope he's not ill."

The three of them had grown closer in recent days, the women admitting George to their small circle and to more of their confidences. He was charming and funny and sympathetic to Elizabeth's past with Darcy. He was also something of a flirt, but not in a way that seemed insincere. Even Elizabeth had to admit that he seemed to show a decided preference towards her and the attention was both welcome and flattering. Watching Jane moon about over Bingley had only served to reinforce her own desires for such a thing. While not certain that George Wickham was exactly the sort of man she might one day fall in love with and marry, he certainly seemed like a decent enough prospect.

Charlotte shrugged in answer to Elizabeth's concern. "Collins didn't say anything to me. But I can't imagine what else might keep him away on a night with free food and getting paid to eat it."

"Especially when it turned out to be this good," Elizabeth agreed.

In the next moment, it seemed as though she was given a real answer for George's absence on this evening. The food before her, previously so appetizing, suddenly held very little real allure.

_What is _he_ doing here? _

"Who?" Charlotte glanced around, trying to spot the person that had sparked the question Elizabeth had apparently asked out loud. "Oh, who is _that_? He's gorgeous!"

She had easily identified the source of Elizabeth's sudden mood shift and was ogling him quite openly.

"Char!" Elizabeth hissed, feeling that her friend's question was spoken too loudly and that her remark was entirely too inappropriate. "Don't look! It's _him_!"

Charlotte whipped her head around to face Elizabeth, dark eyes wide with surprise and eyebrows arched in disbelief. "_That's_ Darcy?" she asked, much more quietly now. "He doesn't look much like his pictures in the paper, does he? You never said he was so good looking!"

Against her will, Elizabeth glanced briefly at the tall man who had just entered the room, apparently deep in conversation with another man she recognized as being in upper management for Blue Line. Darcy was dressed formally in a tuxedo, entirely inappropriate in a room full of low wage workers. His hair had grown out since she had last seen him, the dark locks falling in a perfect wave over his collar. She felt the sudden insane urge to run her fingers through it.

Almost as though he had heard the salacious thought, he looked across the room and met her gaze. Unnerved by the intensity in those dark eyes, Elizabeth immediately looked down at her plate, feeling a faint burn in her cheeks at having been caught looking at him. It seemed that he had known _exactly_ where she would be and had visually sought her out. She found herself hoping that he wouldn't seek her out physically.

She was suddenly reminded of their very first meeting, for this encounter carried echoes of that one. That first time, she had been at work and already seated when he had entered. She had been conversing with another woman each time.

Beyond those superficial details, God save her, each time there had been _something_, some sixth sense that was apparently attuned specifically to his presence. She had known without looking that it was him. Had felt a thrill, inexplicable and unwelcome, course through her. There was a hint of excitement, though she couldn't say why. At their first meeting it had been easily explained, but she hadn't _known_ him then. She had only known _of_ him. Now they had a history, small and strained as it was, and she knew she did not like him. There was no reason at all to feel that illicit thrill and every reason in the world to hope he would keep his distance.

The next four hours suddenly loomed in her mind, stretching out like an eternity. How could she be in the same room as him for so long and have any reasonable hope that he would not speak to her?

Picking at her meal, Elizabeth tried without any particular success to appear as though all was normal. Charlotte attempted to make conversation about anything other than the proverbial elephant in the room, but both of them tracked Darcy with their eyes and all attempts at speaking on another topic faltered almost instantly.

"I would rather be back running a machine," Elizabeth muttered, picking despondently at a stalk of oven-roasted asparagus. "Without sweepers if I had to."

The wish was futile and was answered almost immediately by the stir caused when one of the men from management stood and starting calling for everyone's attention. As the room grew silent, the man stepped over to a podium that had been set up in the corner and launched into a speech.

"Hello, everyone! Some of you may not know me, but I'm David Love and I'm the Senior Manager in charge of operations here at Blue Line. It is my very great pleasure to welcome you all to tonight's festivities and to introduce you all to a few special guests we have with us tonight.

"But first, I want to express my gratitude to you. All of you make our mission here a success and this dinner is just a small way that we want to say thank you for all the effort and diligence you have put in during the rest of the year."

David continued on in a similar vein for some time, not really saying anything of substance but never seeming to run out of words.

"Do you think Collins took lessons from him?" Elizabeth eventually asked Charlotte in a low voice. "Or was it the other way around?"

"Collins can only aspire to such magnificent heights of leadership greatness," Charlotte replied.

Stifling their grins, they listened to several more minutes of David Love's speech before he at last came to an unwilling close and announced that it was his very great pleasure to introduce everyone to Mister William Darcy, who had prepared some remarks of his own.

Darcy looked severe as he took over the podium, though he thanked David graciously and favored the audience with a polite smile as he also extended his thanks for their time and attention.

In some ways, having him be the center of attention was a relief. Elizabeth was now not only free to look at him, it was practically required. As out of place and pompous as the tuxedo was, she was having a difficult time dragging her eyes away from him as he wore it. The stark lines and bold contrast in colors only accentuated his tall frame and broad shoulders. That he appeared to be perfectly at ease in front of this crowd of strangers only made him all the more striking. He exuded confidence in a way that Elizabeth had only ever seen in him one time before, when she had first seen him walk through the doors of his own office.

"I won't take up much of your time," Darcy promised, as soon as he had thanked them for their attendance and hard work. "As I am certain several of you have heard by now, my corporation has recently acquired Blue Line."

He seemed to look directly at Elizabeth as he delivered that line, but like any good speaker would, he soon directed his gaze to another portion of the room.

"I suspect that this may have been a cause of concern for some of you, and so I wish to put your minds at ease. Blue Line has not been in any recent fiscal danger and I have every hope of increasing both productivity and profit margin in the coming years. I believe I have identified a few key areas for growth and improvement, but I do not foresee that any of these plans will have a negative impact on you. In fact, I hope that any direct impacts will be positive.

"As an example, I was able to tour the facility some time ago and have enlisted the aid of an efficiency consultant. So far, I have approved his recommendation for automating the disposal of full trays from the machine area. You should no longer have to stack full trays on the tops of the shelving units. Instead, we will have rollers installed beneath them and these will feed directly to the end of the machines where the mail cages are waiting for them.

"That is only one example, but I have every hope it will make your work environment more comfortable and more efficient.

"As it is _your _work environment, I will also be wanting to solicit feedback from you. You know it best and will have the best ideas on places where we can see improvement. Your shift managers will have more details on how to submit that feedback if and when you have it."

He paused briefly and scanned the room again. "Now, I said I wouldn't take much of your time and I intend to keep that promise. So let me just close by saying that I am looking forward to working with Blue Line and I hope this transition will be a smooth one.

"Please feel free to continue to enjoy the food and refreshments. I believe that's it for announcements tonight, so you should all feel free to relax for the rest of the evening. If you're working this shift, you need not feel compelled to stay and socialize, although we certainly hope that you will." He smiled engagingly, making the invitation to stay seem almost personal.

"If you do choose to go, you will still be paid for all your hours. And next time we have an event, we'll be sure to schedule it during the hours of some other shift. I assume you all want to set the next party for two AM?"

A laugh rippled through the room and Darcy's grin grew, as though he were really pleased at having made them laugh. "And that's it. Please, go ahead and enjoy!"

He stepped away from the podium and the room instantly erupted into the sounds of several dozen conversations.

"Funny," Charlotte murmured. "He doesn't _seem_ like a monster."

"Appearances can be so deceiving," Elizabeth tossed back hotly. It was as much as observation to her friend as it was a reminder to herself.

"Well, if they're really going to let us go home with pay, I think I'll take advantage of it," Charlotte declared as she looked out the window with a frown. The snow was several inches deep and piling up quickly. "It's a bad night to be out."

Shivering at the thought of walking to the coach stop and having to wait around in the snow, Elizabeth couldn't help but agree. "And you don't even have as far to walk to get home as I do to get to the coach. Leaving is an excellent idea. I think I'll just grab my things and go."

"Not fast enough," Charlotte said cryptically, looking pointedly towards the front of the room.

Glancing in the same direction, Elizabeth felt her heart sink as she observed Mr. Darcy making his way towards her. He caught her looking - again! - and smiled in acknowledgement. Knowing that it would now be altogether far too rude for her to make a hasty dash for the exit, Elizabeth nevertheless stood and began tidying up from her dinner, laying the utensils across her still rather full plate and folding her napkin up to cover that.

"Miss Bennet," Darcy's voice reached her ear just a moment before he reached her side. "What a pleasure to see you again."

Had she not just witnessed the sincerity he could put into a speech to strangers, she might have thought that the words were meant as honestly as they seemed.

"Mr. Darcy," she acknowledged, looking up at him as she might have any other acquaintance. "I must admit I am surprised to see you here."

He appeared self-conscious at this remark and side-stepped the topic neatly by inclining his head towards Charlotte, who had also gained her feet and was auditing the conversation with open fascination. "May I ask who your friend is?"

"Oh!" Elizabeth was flustered. "Charlotte Lucas, this is Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, my friend, Charlotte."

The look of interest on Darcy's face sharpened. "Ah. Miss Lucas. You are to take on the new secretarial position, are you not?"

"I am," the other woman acknowledged, smiling broadly. "And I am very much looking forward to it, Sir."

"Excellent. I am certain they will be fortunate to have you. It appears as though you have a good background for it."

"What?" Darcy continued, catching and correctly interpreting Elizabeth's unguarded look of astonishment. "I have erred before when it comes to the staffing of such a critical role. I do hope I learn from my mistakes, Miss Bennet, and improve myself wherever I might."

"That is... very noble of you," Elizabeth managed. "Sir," she added on hastily.

Charlotte's eyebrows were now practically meeting her hairline as she looked between her friend and employer. Deciding that whether Elizabeth should desire such a thing or not was irrelevant, she gave them some privacy for whatever the remainder of their conversation might be by murmuring something about needing to say her farewells to several people and slipping away in the face of Elizabeth's half-formed protest and look of desperation.

For a long moment, it seemed that neither Darcy nor Elizabeth could think of a single thing to say and the silence between them was instantly awkward.

"Well, I suppose I should -"

Elizabeth's words tumbled out over Darcy's beginning of, "If I may be so bold-" and they each stopped, laughed in embarrassment and gestured for the other to proceed.

"Ladies first," Darcy insisted, when it seemed they might be forever stuck in their silent holding pattern.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, regretting it almost instantly as she inhaled what could only be Mr. Darcy's scent. It was foreign but appealing, reminding her instantly of the heady combination of aromas that was to be found in the wild and untamed beauty of a mountainside.

"I was only going to say that I should follow Charlotte's lead and collect my things to go." She nodded towards the window to indicate the worsening weather conditions. "I fear the snow will present too much of a hazard if I do not make haste."

To her very great surprise, Darcy smiled. "Then it would appear we are of the same mind. I was merely about to offer you a ride home as I know you must otherwise rely on the public coach."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied automatically. "But I really could not accept. Besides, I am anxious to leave and I would suspect that you must stay and socialize here."

"In fact, I am about to leave myself. I hope you will not think it bad form on my part, but I had only ever intended to make this visit a brief one. My sister and I are destined for the ballet this evening, but if we were to leave now, I would have ample time to see you home if you will allow it. I must insist on at least seeing you to the coach stop if you will not permit me to take you home."

"Oh." She did not immediately know how to respond to him. He was so sincere and seemed so determined that he should be permitted to be of assistance. Another glance out the window decided her. The snow was more than ankle deep by now and falling more heavily still. To compound things and make it even less desirable to walk in, the wind would occasionally gust so strongly that the falling frozen particles would be blown nearly horizontal. There would be no hope of staying warm or dry in such a mess.

"I hope you will not think it bad form on my part," she echoed his words back at him, "but I will accept your offer. I am just mercenary enough to desire a comfortable ride tonight."

He smiled as though she had offered him some great boon. "Very well. You mentioned that you have things to collect?" At her nod of acknowledgment he all but sprang into action. "I will just gather my coat and have Fitch pull the automobile up to the door. We shall meet you there, if that will suit?"

Agreeing that it would, Elizabeth walked in a bemused daze to the employee locker room and exchanged her work smock for her winter coat and accoutrements. Bundling up as she walked towards the door, she resolved to ask only for a ride to the coach stop. It was scarcely a mile away and having only two or three minutes in Darcy's company would not give them much opportunity to make conversation.

She was not certain that she liked this new side of himself that he seemed to be showing to her. _Fired me without cause, makes an abominably rude dinner date, is interested in the likes of Caroline Bingley, fired George and probably broke up Jane and Mr. Bingley._ The list was a mantra in her head, but for some reason it did not seem to be the great bulwark it usually was. She felt defenseless against him and could not begin to understand why she should. It was true that they had never gotten along very well, but he had never _threatened_ her in any way.

So what was she fighting against, really? Feeling warmly towards him when he had been nothing but overbearing and arrogant before? But _that_ was not entirely true. Even that last night when he had given her a ride home from work, when his actions had made no sense and he had seemed to want to control her, he had been capable of respecting her boundaries. He had ridden in the front of his own automobile, leaving her to her privacy in the back.

Suddenly, she wanted very much for his driver to take her all the way home. She had not had any time to question him about his actions that night - or to yell at him, as he had offered - and she still felt the most burning curiosity regarding his potential involvement with the events that had transpired between her sister and Mr. Bingley.

Only moments ago he had acknowledged that he was capable not only of making errors but also of identifying them and attempting to modify his own behavior to correct them! It was not an apology or an explanation for why he had fired her, but it _was_ a step in the right direction.

Having been so lost in her thoughts, Elizabeth gained the front door of the building without having paid any attention to the people around her. Well, if Charlotte had been one of the several figures she had passed by, her friend would surely have accosted her. Shrugging it off and promising herself that she would arrive early enough to visit Charlotte in her new position at the beginning of the next workweek, Elizabeth hurried through the revolving door and out into the biting cold.

Darcy's automobile was there and he was waiting by the rear door himself, wrapped snugly in a long wool coat that was, if anything, more flattering than the tuxedo beneath it. He opened the door as she approached and handed her in; she could feel the warmth of his hands even through the layers of their gloves. Settling herself as he slid in after her, she felt all at once uncertain and almost shy of him.

She had not been used to thinking of him in favorable terms nor yet of thinking of him solely as a man. Thinking of him as an attractive man and as one who was beginning to make himself over in her opinion, though he might not know it, made her all too aware of the confined space of the automobile and the way his presence in it loomed so large and masculine.

"I hope you do not mind, but as we did not settle where I was to take you and as the roads are likely to be so bad, I have asked Fitch to simply take you home."

"I do not mind," Elizabeth answered, surprised and troubled that it was entirely true. "It is really very kind of you to go out of your way like this."

"It is nothing," he assured her. "I am happy only to be of some small service."

Looking up at last from where she had been fiddling with her gloves, Elizabeth could just make out the barest impression of his features in the dim light. "How often we have found ourselves in this position," she observed, not really thinking about what she was saying but feeling desperate to fill the silence.

"And which position is that, Miss Bennet?"

"Elizabeth," she offered impulsively, remembering how well she had liked the sound of her name on his lips before. "Or Lizzie, if you prefer. That is what my friends call me."

"Are we friends?" Darcy's voice sounded surprised, but with a note of something else mixed in. In the darkness, she could not tell what clues his face might have betrayed to her.

"I do not think we are," Elizabeth offered honestly. "But perhaps we could be."

"That is, I think, the same offer Miss Marchrend made to Bingley," he observed.

She caught her breath, surprised for perhaps the dozenth time that evening. Was this a deliberate tactic on his part to bring up topics that she was unsure they could speak of? Was he, perhaps, attempting to tell her that he wished to speak openly with her on any subject that she might choose? Her heart beat wildly against her breast and the vulnerable sensation she had been feeling ever since he had walked into the lunchroom only increased.

What was he doing to her? Did she like it? Could she see past all their past interactions to discover where this one might lead?

"Yes," Elizabeth made a valiant effort to pull herself together and to behave towards him as she always did. "I believe she was generous to offer even that much, but then Jane has always been more forgiving than I have. It is one of her best virtues."

Mr. Darcy seemed to pause before replying and she wondered if he could hear the words she was not saying.

_Do not think I will be as eager to forgive you for your sins against me as Jane has been willing to forgive Bingley's trespasses against her. _

Feeling reckless and needing to have Darcy restored to his proper place in her estimation, Elizabeth took advantage of his silence and pressed on. She would abandon civility if it took doing so to put more distance between himself and her.

"But then, it was not all Mr. Bingley's fault for hurting her as he did, was it? I believe you had a hand in influencing that particular course of events."

"I do not know what you have heard, Miss Bennet, but any involvement I might have had was purely accidental." He spoke slowly, formally, and she did not miss that he had decided not to call her by her Christian name. It seemed that she had gained the space from him that she required.

Almost, she felt she could breathe more easily. Almost, but for a strange pang that suddenly gripped her chest and for a sudden knotting of her stomach.

_This isn't me_, she thought almost wildly. _I am not so cruel! _

But when she opened her mouth again, the words that spilled out were not the mild words of reconciliation she had planned.

"Do not think that because you have at last acknowledged the injury that you have done to me - acknowledged, but made no apology for, I might add! - that I can overlook the injury you have caused to my sister or my friend! You may protest that your involvement in the matter of Jane and Mr. Bingley was accidental, but I do not accept that you can refuse to be accountable for whatever it was you said!"

"I see that you are finally taking me up on my offer to have you yell at me," Mr. Darcy replied, and though the words were light his tone was strained. "Will you allow me to make an answer to these accusations or shall I merely hear you out?"

"You may _try_ to answer," Elizabeth allowed, keeping her voice cool. "But I remind you that I am no Jane."

She could see him nod once in response but then he was silent, as though searching for the correct words. Waiting for him to speak was the most intense sort of agony, but Elizabeth remained as still and as quiet as she might. Just when she thought she might shatter from the anticipation, he at last began.

"You are correct to chastise me for not having made any sort of apology or explanation for the manner in which I handled your employment when we first met. I hope you will try to understand that although I do have an explanation for my actions, it is not one that I can readily give. There is... there is something about myself that I have never told to another person. Not to my parents, when they lived, nor to my friends or sister. It is my hope that I will one day be able to tell you what it is, but I fear you would not believe me just at present.

"While I cannot offer you a suitable explanation, I can apologize to you, wholly and without reservation. You say that you are not like your sister, but I am aware now that you have shown me greater forbearance than I would be able to muster were our situations reversed.

"I am very sorry, Miss Bennet, for the insult it must have seemed I was offering and for the lack of care I took in carrying out the actions I felt were necessary. You must be aware by now that I would do anything in my power to make amends."

As he spoke, Elizabeth could not help but feel a rather intense curiosity about Darcy's secret. She wondered what it must be that he had never told another living soul about it or, from the sound of it, so much as hinted of it to anyone. She felt flattered that he would admit her so far into his confidence, and then wondered if that was really what he had done or if he had fabricated the whole thing in an effort to keep from having to offer whatever the real explanation might be.

But she had softened too much this night, it seemed, for she wanted desperately to believe that he was being honest with her.

As if Fate herself had decided to take a hand in Darcy's favor, some outside source of light briefly illuminated his face and then was gone. In that breviloquent moment, Elizabeth saw enough to convince her absolutely that Darcy was being wholly open and candid with her. Not even the best actor in the world could have such a look on his face if he were only playing a part.

His dark eyes had been pleading and the tautness around his eyes and mouth spoke eloquently of his fear that she would reject this apology, contritely as it had been offered. There was truthfulness in all his looks and stamped over all of it there seemed to be a grave sorrow that he had wounded her. He seemed almost as if he felt he had done as much harm to himself as he had to her. It was not self-pity. It was the knowledge of a mar upon his character or soul.

"Very well," Elizabeth found herself saying. "I accept your apology and will endeavor to put that part of our past behind us." She could not yet say she forgave him, for she would forgive him nothing if he could not satisfy her on Jane's account.

"Your sister, then," Darcy pursued, almost as though he had plucked the thought out of her mind. "As you may recall, I fell quite ill following our evening out together."

"Yes."

"Bingley came to see me while I was delirious with fever," Darcy explained. "I was not myself and I have no memory of saying the words he ascribed to me. I can assure you that I would not have said them had I been at all in my right mind.

"It was never my intent to separate your sister from my friend. She is good for him, I think; I have witnessed the ways he has changed himself to please her. She has made him a better man in many respects."

Never before had Elizabeth felt herself grow so instantly emotional. A lump formed in her throat and she could not swallow past it. Tears prickled at her eyes and slipped unbidden down her cheeks. Taking a shaky breath, she tried desperately to think of anything to say that might possibly be enough to answer him.

Darcy heard her inhale and immediately sat forward. "Miss Bennet? Are you well?"

"Yes," she answered thickly. "No. Oh, I don't know what I am!" she cried. "I have never been so confused in my life! I thought I hated you and now I do not know how I ever got to be so wrong."

"Miss Bennet!" Darcy's hands fumbled in the semi-dark for hers, found and grasped them. They had each removed their gloves and her cold, trembling hands were swallowed up in his larger, warm ones. "Miss Bennet. Elizabeth, please do not trouble yourself. You had every reason to dislike me. I know I have earned your ire several times over. My intentions may have been good, but my actions were not."

"But," she began a weak protest.

Darcy's grip on her hands tightened abruptly, becoming almost painful in its intensity. "No!" He was suddenly yelling, but even in her confusion she somehow didn't believe it was directed at her. "No! Not now!"

In the next moment, the car began to fishtail, gliding wildly from side to side and tossing them about. Elizabeth screamed as she was nearly thrown from her seat to the floor, cracking her head hard against something in the darkness.

It was all over in mere moments, the violent motions stopping almost as soon as they had begun. Elizabeth had the faintest sense that Mr. Darcy was still talking to her but he seemed very far away. Wondering if he had somehow been ejected from the vehicle and was calling to her from the street, she struggled to sit up. The effort proved too much for her and although she struggled against it, darkness reached up hungry hands to claim her.

* * *

**A/N:** Longest. Chapter. Ever. So I'll try to keep this the shortest note from me ever. My muse has me firmly in her grip, so forgive me if I fail once again to respond to all the lovely reviews. I do intend to try, but not just at this moment.

My beta was able to give this a once over and I gave it a twice over, so hopefully it'll be a solid effort. Who cares? I'm off to work on 20 in Darcy's POV.

Oh, and sorry for the evil cliffhanger. Sort of. But not really!


	20. Chapter 20

In the moments before the whole world became a place of sickening motion, confused chaos and pain, Darcy's Second Sight came to him like a curse. It foretold the violent upheaval of the automobile spinning wildly out of control and showed the nightmarish image of Elizabeth lying pale and bloody in the snowy streets.

He might have yelled against this image, it was so horrific to him when he had only just begun to mend things with the woman he loved and had still not had any opportunity to tell her or to demonstrate to her the depth of his ardor. He felt cheated and furious, instantly and comprehensively, with everyone and with everything in the world if he should have come this far only to lose his best reason for living.

The images of violent motion then became reality, and Darcy flung himself as far _away_ from Elizabeth as the tossing of the automobile would allow. It went against his every instinct to try to cover and protect her from a force so much stronger than both of them, but his Second Sight had shown him the hazards of doing otherwise.

He heard Elizabeth scream once and then felt a tremendous blow land against his right knee. The thud was sickening and he worried that he had not interpreted the warning his Second Sight had tried to give him and that Elizabeth had surely been killed when her head had struck him there.

Ignoring everything else, Darcy scrabbled in the darkness, only barely aware that the automobile had at last stopped moving.

"Elizabeth?" His searching fingers found an arm and followed it up to the joint of her neck and then to the smooth skin of her face. "Elizabeth? Please!"

He was sobbing, he realized, feeling a hot splash of liquid on his hand and barely able to hear the faint moan Elizabeth made over his own gasping breaths. Mastering himself with some effort, he called her name again.

She moved beneath his hands and he begged her to try to remain still. There was no telling what sort of injuries she might have suffered. If she heard him, she did not heed him, and continued to struggle upwards. All at once, she fell back. His hands were there to catch and ease her back into a supine position before he desperately sought her throat, looking for a pulse.

When he found it, he was relieved at it seeming strong if not altogether steady. But that might have been his own erratic flow of blood interfering. He felt light-headed but ignored the sensation as best as he could, focused only the woman he loved.

The instinct to ensure she was, indeed, breathing properly kicked in and he crouched over her, putting one hand on her forehand and the other beneath her chin, tilting her head gently back. The next maneuver was performed only with great physical difficulty, but Darcy barely noticed the strain it put on his muscles to hover his ear close enough to Elizabeth's face to listen to her breath, all without crushing her in the cramped confines of the automobile. Her breath came steady, if a little shallow, and he listened for several long moments in an agony of fear that she might begin gasping or choking.

He was so focused on listening to her breathe that he did not at first notice his driver had opened the door and was now peering into the dark space.

"Sir?" Fitch's voice was the only thing to call him to attention. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Yes. But Elizabeth is injured. I cannot tell the extent of it. And you?"

"Shaken, Sir, but not suffering more than a few bumps. I'll see if I can't find some light for the lady."

Relieved that his driver seemed unharmed, Darcy turned his attention back to Elizabeth. Placing two fingers back on the pulse at her throat, he gingerly explored the rest of her face with his other hand, cursing quietly when he encountered something warm and sticky that could only be blood. Half terrified that he would do more harm than good, he nevertheless searched the pockets of his overcoat until he found his handkerchief and used it to dab at the mess.

Still keeping his touch as tender as he could make it, he ghosted his fingers over her until he found what he thought was the source of the bleeding. Even in the dark, he could tell that her skin was swelling and tender and deduced that this must have been where her head struck his knee.

Swallowing back his fear at the half dozen worst-case scenarios that could play out as the result of such an injury, Darcy applied his handkerchief to the wound, wondering how much pressure was too much.

"Oh, Elizabeth," he cried to her unhearing ears, "I wish I knew whether to be grateful that you aren't feeling the pain you must otherwise be in or to be concerned that you aren't conscious to tell me what your name is and how many fingers I might be holding up."

He was still crying and the salt of his tears made his eyes sting, but he needed one hand to hold his makeshift bandage in place and would not dream of removing the other from the only proof he had that her heart was still beating steadily away. Turning his face to his shoulder, he wiped it against the scratchy wool of his coat as best as he could.

Cold air swirled into the back of the automobile again and Darcy looked up to see Fitch who was triumphantly holding up an aldetric torch.

"She's got a head wound," Darcy informed the other man, gesturing with his chin to the floor where Elizabeth lay crumpled. "It's bleeding but I cannot tell much else."

Fitch obligingly shone the light at Elizabeth, searching with the beam until he located the position of the pressure bandage that Darcy was applying. Lifting the handkerchief to better see the site, Darcy's first thought was relief that it wasn't as bad as he had feared.

That being said, it was still quite swollen and appeared to be coloring in nasty shades of red and blue. Having heard of people who had suffered what had only appeared to be minor bumps to the head only to die of hemorrhaging hours or days later, Darcy knew not to be too optimistic.

He had to get Elizabeth help and he had to get it for her now.

Tearing his eyes away from her face, he looked over at Fitch who, while rather pale and sporting a few swelling bruises of his own, did in fact appear to be in fairly decent condition.

"We must get her help as soon as possible. I dare not move her around too much. She was thrown pretty hard and I have no way of knowing the extent of the damage. Is the automobile able to be driven?"

"No, Sir," Fitch replied, face grim by the wan light of the torch. "I'm so sorry, Sir. I tried to start the engine back up in order to keep you warm back here, but it wouldn't turn over."

"Where are we? Is there anywhere nearby we could walk to for help?"

"There is, Sir," Fitch sounded relieved to be able to provide good news. "We're not far from Mr. Bingley's residence, actually. Shall I run and fetch help?"

"Yes," Darcy replied automatically but then caught himself. "Wait. Are you certain you're well enough to go? I won't risk your life needlessly."

"Oh, I'm fine, Sir," Fitch protested eagerly. "It's not that far. I can make it."

Giving his driver a more comprehensive inspection, Darcy reluctantly removed his hands from Elizabeth and began to shrug out of his coat. "Wear this," he commanded. "I should be well enough without it for a time and if you are to brave the mess out there, you will need it more."

The driver accepted the garment with a murmur of thanks, exchanging it for the torch. "I have gloves and a scarf as well," Darcy continued, glancing around as though these objects might present themselves to his sight on their own volition. He shined the light around the passenger area but did not immediately see any of the smaller articles of clothing. "Somewhere in here."

Fitch was already buttoning up the coat. It was a little big on him, but the skirts of it would not impede his walking. "I have gloves already, Sir. But the scarf would be much appreciated if we can find it."

They searched together and quickly spotted it lying on the floor, half under Elizabeth's back. Extricating it carefully, Darcy handed it over and fixed his driver with a serious look. "I'm counting on you, you know that. But I won't have you do anything reckless or foolhardy. We can manage here for some time without there being any more danger, I think."

"Yes, Sir," Fitch acknowledged. "I'll be careful."

"Very good." Darcy felt a bit as though he were sending the other man off to his potential doom and hesitated slightly before giving an indication of dismissal. He supposed that he was, in fact, risking the other man's life, but he saw no other way to deal with the current situation and still give Elizabeth the best chance of receiving proper medical care as soon as possible. Of course, they might all stay together and still freeze to death before anyone should chance by.

"We are out of the way of any traffic, if it should pass by?" he asked.

"Yes," Fitch assured him. "Though I haven't seen anyone else on the roads tonight, Sir."

"Very well," Darcy nodded reluctantly, watching as his driver shut the door firmly and turned away. He was soon lost to sight among the blowing snow and Darcy found himself speaking aloud, "Good luck, and godspeed."

Since there was nothing else he could do now for the other man except to worry, Darcy turned his attention to attempting to arrange things inside the automobile. With Elizabeth lying on the floorboards between the two benches, there was not much room to maneuver. He had just spent the past several minutes in a sort of crouch over her legs, one knee wedged in a scrap of open floor between her left leg and the seat.

Moving slowly, he braced his arms on either bench and pushed himself up as far as the roof of the automobile would allow, which was not very far. Shoving off one from one side, he propelled himself gracelessly onto the opposite bench and then took a moment to endure the sensations of circulation returning to his lower limbs.

Still moving slowly, he eventually managed to get into an undignified position on all fours on the bench. Braced on two knees and one hand, Darcy wedged the torch into a handy seam that ran down the middle of the opposite bench and used his free hand to make small adjustments that he hoped would make Elizabeth more comfortable. He attempted to remain detached as he moved her and straightened her coat, which had twisted beneath her. Not until he had finished the task did he allow himself to think of her as anything other than a mannequin.

That done and not knowing what else he could possibly do, Darcy curled himself on his side on the seat above Elizabeth and rested his face so that he could look down on her. His free right hand drifted down to feel once again for her pulse; no matter how many times he found it still steady and strong, the small reassurance was a comfort to him.

For just a moment, in the relative peace and serenity of the moment, Darcy marvelled at how soft her skin was beneath his hand and wondered how it might feel to be able to touch her as often as he wished and in a manner far more intimate that this was.

As soon as the thought had formed, Darcy shuddered in revulsion that he could be so base as to think such a thing when Elizabeth was lying beneath him, bruised and bleeding and having not even granted him permission to touch her as he was touching her now.

Vowing to keep his thoughts under better regulation, Darcy resumed applying a gentle pressure to the handkerchief on her temple and whispered to her unconscious ears that he loved her and would do everything in his power to see her happy and safe.

"And," he added, unable to stop himself from expressing it for even a moment longer, "I will care for you for the rest of our lives, if only you will permit me to do so."

_Would she?_ Darcy wondered, allowing his mind to drift back over their earlier exchange. It had been the most honest conversation that they had ever had and, in many ways, the most complete one. Yet, there was still so much left unsaid and there were still secrets between them.

Secrets were not the same thing as dishonesty, though, and Elizabeth had seemed to accept that he had things that he _could not_ tell her, though she had seemed curious about it. Had she pressed him, as he feared she might, for he had given her no real explanation at all, he would have told her everything.

He knew that she deserved to know the full truth about him and his Second Sight, but the whole idea was so unlikely that if it wasn't something he had lived with all his life, he would never have been able to accept it as an explanation from someone else for their behavior and actions. He might eventually believe it, but Darcy knew he would require some sort of proof and he would have to know and trust the other person very well before he could reach a state of acceptance.

Elizabeth would have no reason to believe a story that seemed so fanciful and, he thought, now that he knew her a little better, he imagined she might very well rage against the very notion that she was somehow fated to be with him, whether she willed it or no. If anything, she seemed just stubborn enough to set herself entirely against the idea of loving or marrying him if only to prove she had her own considerable strength of mind.

That much, he was certain of, since he was convinced that she had somehow discovered his hand in the secretarial position at Blue Line and had rejected it utterly.

He had Bingley to credit for his even being aware of that particular piece of information. The two men were back to being on entirely friendly terms and Bingley had come by a few nights previous and regaled him with the tale of what it had been like to dine with the Bennet family. Apparently, it was something of a departure from normalcy.

Well, those had not been the precise words Bingley had used. It was more of a convoluted recounting of Mrs. Bennet's crassness, Mr. Bennet's disinterest in doing anything other than laughing at life around him, and a few remarks that seemed to imply the youngest daughter took very much after her mother in terms of temperament and thoughtlessness. These were neither Bingley's words nor impressions, but he had said enough that Darcy felt he had a fair picture of the rest of the Bennet family. Recalling his thought of perhaps getting to know the elder Bennets as a means to get to spend time with Elizabeth, Darcy could not help but be grateful that another opportunity had presented itself.

Of everything Bingley had shared about that night, of greatest interest had been a warning that Elizabeth had mentioned very casually that she knew Darcy had purchased Blue Line and that she had made a particularly cutting remark about being afraid she was about to lose her job as a result.

If he had required it, that would have been all the confirmation Darcy would have needed to know that Elizabeth was, indeed, justifiably still upset at his initial treatment of her. As it was, that she was angry came as no particular surprise but it did have the positive effect of redoubling his determination to make things right between them. Or at least as much as she would allow him to do so.

Bingley had mentioned several other items of particular note, the most outlandish of which was that when Caroline had leapt unnecessarily to Darcy's defense, Elizabeth had appeared almost as though she would like to claw the other woman's eyes out.

"How on earth is that a good thing?" Darcy had asked, baffled at how pleased Bingley seemed with that reveal.

"It's obvious to anyone that my sister has set her cap at you," Bingley had replied. "Elizabeth sees it and she doesn't like it, though I suspect she doesn't realize she's jealous."

It all sounded very nice, but Darcy could not help but remain skeptical over Bingley's interpretation of events. He would never have said as much to his friend, but he thought it was far more likely that Elizabeth merely found Caroline to be as obnoxious as everyone else did.

Yet, Elizabeth had seemed to have thawed towards him even _before_ they had been able to speak of the important matters that lay between them. She had accepted his offer of a ride and even if that had been simply to avoid having to walk in the blizzard,_ she_ had begun the conversation and _she_ had rescinded her earlier demand that he refer to her only as Miss Bennet.

Perhaps Bingley was a better study of other people than Darcy had ever given him credit for. His friend was not stupid by any means and such an idea had never even occurred to Darcy, but Bingley was so often at a loss when it came to managing accounts or planning for the future of his company that it was easy to overlook the other strengths the other man might own. If nothing else, it was seeming more and more likely that Bingley had done better in reading Elizabeth's signals than Darcy ever had.

The thought, though not new, was still sobering. How could he be so convinced of his love for her when he did not even _know_ her? Was he not doing her a disservice to treat her as just another in a long line of successful business transactions inspired by his Second Sight? Darcy was not close to many people - he was not shy*, but he found being in the company of people he did not know well to be quite taxing - but even he knew that the transactions that went on in relationships between two people were nothing at all like those legal documents that required some discussion and then a signature.

Looking down on her pale face from his cramped position on the bench, Darcy studied her fine features in the light afforded by the aldetric torch. Even without the interference from his Second Sight, he would most likely have been attracted to her. She was undeniably beautiful, with nearly flawless skin and symmetrical features. That her right eyebrow seemed almost always to be at least half raised as though in challenge only added to her charm.

Of all things, though, Darcy thought it was her hair that he found most enchanting. She still had not cut it since their first meeting and it was grown quite long. He wondered if he would ever be able to thread his fingers through those dense tresses and, once again, broke off such a train of thought before it could go too far.

It was growing colder in the back of the automobile and, without his coat and wearing only the fine formal attire he'd had on in anticipation of the ballet, he found he was almost cold enough to shiver in response. Worried that the floor would be colder still, Darcy fretted for some time about whether or not he should try to move Elizabeth up to the opposite bench and wondered just how long it might take Fitch to reach Bingley's house and make a return.

In his stress during the moment, he had not thought to ask precisely how far away they might be. Fitch had only said "not far," but that could have meant anything from a few blocks to several miles.

Georgiana would be quite worried when he did not return home at the time they had previously agreed upon to leave. She had not known anything of his plans to see Elizabeth tonight or to offer her a ride home. He had told his sister only that it was a holiday party and that he felt he must attend.

Groping for his pocket watch, he examined it in the light, pleased to see that it had managed to survive the accident. He was surprised to find it was near to 10:00 already. How long had they been stranded here? How long had Fitch been gone? Georgiana must be frantic by now.

Darcy worried over his sister and his driver for several more minutes before realizing that it would not only do them no good, but it would also serve him no purpose. It was up to him to keep watch over Elizabeth and to make any decisions that might need to be made if Fitch were not back within the hour. He must keep a clear head for both of those tasks and so he redirected his thoughts to what he might do if he were forced to act.

Waking Elizabeth was the first thing he would try, he determined. Knowing more of how she felt and what condition she was in would be necessary to determining the most appropriate course. And if he could not wake her... Darcy suppressed the idea rather savagely, unwilling to contemplate the scenario until and unless it should become a reality.

Mentally willing Bingley to be home and available to assist, Darcy turned his thoughts to more pleasant avenues, feeling that whatever else the night might have brought, he had at least been able to clear up the idea that he'd had anything to do with purposefully breaking up Miss Marchrend and Bingley's relationship.

That had been another dicey conversation, but he had been lucky twice in the same night, and Elizabeth had not asked him precisely what he had said in the midst of his fever that had been the inadvertent cause of Bingley's impetuous and reckless course of action.

Even now, he thanked God that Elizabeth would no longer labor under that wrong impression. Darcy felt he could believe with some certainty that Elizabeth might forgive any number of sins committed against herself but that she would never overlook a hurt done to her beloved sister.

In this, they were much alike. Georgiana meant the whole world to Darcy and he had never forgiven anyone who had managed to distress her, however slightly.

Such thoughts inevitably led back to how much he himself must have distressed her this evening and he found himself hoping that the staff would be able to keep her calm until he could return and assure her that he was well. Save for the fact that his knee had begun throbbing some time ago and seemed ready to persist in doing so for the foreseeable future, he was relatively unharmed by their misadventure.

As the minutes dragged on, Darcy could almost feel his thoughts growing increasingly hazy. Whether it was the cold, the aftermath of the adrenal high or simple exhaustion, a sharp bite of fear for Elizabeth's well-being was all it took to bring him to alertness once again. But the waiting was growing interminable and his nerves were slowly fraying.

Just when he was beginning to fear that he must try to wake Elizabeth and formulate a new plan, a sound came from outside. There was a shout and a confused babble of voices. Darcy struggled to a more upright position just as the door to the automobile was pulled open and Fitch's triumphant face appeared.

"Mister Bingley has brought his carriage, Sir," the driver informed him. "And has sent someone to fetch a doctor to his residence."

"Thank God," was all Darcy could say before Bingley was there, taking charge in a most un-Bingley-like manner, arranging to have Elizabeth moved onto a makeshift stretcher and conveyed to his coach.

Although Darcy felt as though the task should be his, these were not his servants and he felt increasingly dim, as though with Elizabeth in hands other than his own it was at last appropriate for the demands of his own weary body to take precedence.

In what seemed to him a blur of motion, they were all soon settled into Bingley's largest carriage, Darcy's automobile abandoned almost without thought on the side of the road and making their way back to Bingley's house.

Bingley questioned Darcy about the events of the night but soon desisted when he realized how tired his friend was.

"You must stay with us tonight. We will sort everything else out in the morning when you have rested."

Darcy shook his head in response. "I must get home to Georgiana. She will have been expecting me long since and must be nearly frantic with worry."

"And it will do neither of you any good if you overtax yourself and end up on your sickbed again," Bingley shot back. "I will send someone to tell her you are safe with me. Besides, I really feel you ought to have the doctor look at you as well. I don't like how you limped all the way over to the carriage."

Feeling really too weary to argue, Darcy acquiesced with a nod, saying only that the doctor should be sure to examine Elizabeth first.

In a much shorter time than he would have thought possible, given how long it had seemed to take for help to arrive, they were pulling up to the portico at Bingley's front door and servants swarmed them to assist with getting them indoors and stripped of their outerwear.

Summoning all his strength to do so, Darcy followed after Elizabeth's unconscious form, and took a chair next to where she was deposited on a comfortable couch near to a fire. He was offered a cup of brandy and took it mindlessly, though he did not make the effort to lift it to his lips.

"The doctor should be here soon," Bingley assured him, taking a seat nearby. "Do you think there is anything we can do for her before he arrives?"

"I do not know. I think getting her warm is the best thing and the least risky. Head injuries are tricky."

Bingley murmured his assent and may have made some other observation, but Darcy did not really pay attention. Closing his eyes in a hopeful prayer that Elizabeth would be well, he slipped into a light doze, not ever having intended to do so.

* * *

A/N: I always think I'm not going to have one of these and then I always do. Oh well. I'll try to keep the babble to a minimum.

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I actually wrote the first pass of it the day after I posted Chapter 19 but then my beta was like, "Um, no. This sucks and you can do better." So I ended up chucking most of those 5000-odd words and starting over. I'm never very good at "killing my darlings" so it took a lot of effort to get it reworked, even though I knew exactly where it was going. But my beta was correct, as she so often is, and so you all have her to thank for not getting a total rehash of 19.

Oh, and I know I've been terribad about replying to reviews lately (which is to say that I haven't), but please know that I do appreciate each one! You're all awesome!

xoxo -Imp

**_*_** Regarding my line about Darcy not being shy, this is a tremendous pet peeve for me and I feel so strongly about it that I'm going to get on my soapbox. Because I can. I don't know how many of you are familiar with the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator or how much you've paid attention to it if you are familiar. A Google search will bring up a bunch of information if you haven't heard of it. Anyhow, I find it interesting and fairly accurate myself, and I am an INTJ (which is supposed to be one of the least common types and even more rare among women). In reading about INTJs, I found a list of famous (whether real or fictional) people who are also INTJs. Guess who was on that list? Mr. Darcy! I would believe he is an INTJ, but especially the "I" part. He is one seriously introverted dude.

Being introverted is so very much **not at all** the same thing as being shy. I'm not bashful. I just think it's very draining emotionally and physically to have to interact with other people. I like to say that I'm not fearful of talking to people, I just so rarely find it worth the time and effort to do so. As a result, much like Mr. Darcy, having not taken the time to practice, I am sometimes bad at it.

So there you go. Darcy isn't shy and I will have words with anyone who claims otherwise! And that's my rant for the day. Feel free to ignore me and go about your business. :D


	21. Chapter 21

Caroline Bingley had just finished readying herself for bed and was about to retire for the night when there came the most awful pounding noise at the front door. She jerked in surprise and then stiffened her spine in anger at the intrusion upon her life. The hour was late enough that no decent person should be coming to call, let alone making such a terrible racket when it was highly likely that the more important members of the household might already be sleeping.

Her own servants took far too long to answer the summons; she would have to have a word with Mr. Bailey, the butler, about such laxness in attention to the most basic of duties. In fact, she would do so now, she determined. Throwing on her robe and checking the mirror to ensure that she didn't appear to be too disheveled, Caroline exited the room and went in search of some servants to correct.

Her emergence was not, she thought primly, vulgar curiosity regarding all that annoying ruckus at the door.

She descended the stair slowly, listening to the exchange taking place at the door. One of the footmen was talking to an unknown person of coarse accent but wearing a fine wool coat, of a similar cut and style to the one Mr. Darcy wore. _In fact..._

Caroline slowed her steps still further, catching the end of the strange man's words. "...about two kilometers away. The master sent me to ask for Mr. Bingley's aid."

"Who or what is two kilometers away?" Caroline interjected, cutting off the footman's response. "Go fetch my brother," she commanded the servant. "And tell Bailey I wish to see him as soon as possible."

The footman bowed and departed silently and Caroline turned the full of her attention to the remaining man. She raised an eyebrow at him to encourage him to answer her question.

"It's Mr. Darcy, ma'am. The automobile hit some ice and we crashed."

"Oh, dear!" Caroline cried. "He is hurt?"

She hoped it was only that he was hurt and not dead. Had he actually perished in this freak accident, she would be forced to find a suitable replacement. All the work and effort she had put into catching Mr. Darcy would have been for nothing.

"He is well, ma'am. His injuries are minor."

Her fears relieved, Caroline didn't really listen to the rest of the answer, her mind already pursuing the idea that Mr. Darcy would have to come here, certainly, and be given a room for the night at least. If he were more badly injured, he might even been forced to remain for a period of several days. What wonderful luck!

Caroline had not had many opportunities to see him as of late. There had been several weeks when it had seemed that her stupid elder brother had been about to throw away his friendship with Mr. Darcy over some quarrel they'd had. Charles hadn't been very forthcoming about the details, but she had gathered it had something to do with that wretchedly poor Jane Marchrend creature her brother had been seeing. Mr. Darcy was always so good about understanding the propriety of keeping to one's social and economic sphere in one's relationships; perhaps he had reminded Bingley of his duty to marry well.

It seemed possible that if Mr. Darcy were to be here, she could discover more. The last time he had joined them for dinner and Charles had made that appalling statement about his intention to actually _marry_ Jane Marchrend, Mr. Darcy had looked to be on the point of objecting. They might work together to stop the match, particularly if Caroline were able to inform him of the utter unsuitability of the girl's family. She would tell him everything of that horrid dinner she had been forced to endure at the Bennets' unfashionable and cramped dwelling.

Caroline came out of her reverie as she noticed her brother approaching, walking with a hurried stride. Good. The footman must have managed to convey some sense of urgency.

"Oh, Charles! It is the most distressing thing! Mr. Darcy has been in an accident only a short distance away. I fear he must be in danger of freezing on such a night and without his coat." She looked accusingly at the man who had brought the news, wondering how he could take a coat from and then abandon an injured man to perish in the cold. "You must go and fetch him back as soon as may be!"

"Thank you, Caroline," Charles responded calmly, seeming not at all as distressed as Caroline thought he should. "Fitch, will a coach be sufficient to fetch Mr. Darcy back? Is there anyone with him?"

Feeling it unseemly that her brother should know another man's servant's name, Caroline felt it was time to excuse herself from the conversation. There was much to be done before Mr. Darcy should arrive and it would be up to her to see to it all.

"I'll just go and have a room readied for Mr. Darcy," she said by way of explanation for her departure, already plotting to have the servants prepare the one right across from her own. What a delicious opportunity that would be! Wondering if she would dare be brazen enough to leave her door "accidentally" ajar while dressing in the morning, Caroline moved away, paying no heed to whatever it was her brother was calling after her about two rooms.

Honestly, that servant of Mr. Darcy's could have no reason to require his own room. He could sleep in the servant's quarters and never have any cause for complaint. It was his proper place, after all, and even if Charles didn't recognize it, everyone else would.

Fortunately, she was saved the trouble of having to find a servant or two on her own, as Bailey crossed paths with her a moment later. She berated him to keep the rest of the stuff under better regulation that they might answer random, late night summons to the front door in a more timely fashion, thus preserving the quiet repose being sought by the remainder of the household.

Dismissing the man to prepare for Mr. Darcy's imminent arrival with a list of tasks that now encompassed not only the preparation of a room, but also of food and drink in case Mr. Darcy should wish it, as well as someone told off to stand in as his valet and to arrange for some clothing. Satisfied that she had thought of everything, Caroline returned to her room and seated herself at her vanity.

She looked over her reflection critically, frowning that she had just gone to all the trouble of removing her cosmetics and taking down her hair and would have to redo everything before she could properly greet Mr. Darcy.

Calling for her maidservant to come and arrange her hair, Caroline applied her makeup herself. She did not normally like to do so, but time was of the essence and, anyway, she had a better hand for it than her maidservant did. She was always having to encourage that stupid girl to not skimp with the application of her eye shadow and rouge.

It took just above half an hour before Caroline was at last pleased with her hair and face. Mr. Darcy had arrived several minutes ago, judging from the commotion that could be heard at the entrance. It was just as well that she hadn't been ready to greet him at the door. Surely that would appear too desperate. In this way, she could saunter down as though she had only just heard the news and was coming to check on him in concern.

To reinforce that impression, she decided against getting dressed. Wearing her robe, she was modestly attired enough and besides, there were enough servants about to provide sufficient chaperonage, not to mention Charles' presence. Glancing over her reflection one last time, she tried on a seductive smile and then discarded it in favor of a worried expression.

Arranging the bright orange straps of her silk nightdress so that one seemed nearly ready to slide from her shoulder and loosely retying the belt on her thin, white robe so that it parted somewhat provocatively at the top, Caroline deemed her appearance perfect.

She started to walk away from the vanity before one final thought occurred to her and she returned to stand before it. Bending over and bringing her shoulders in _just like so_... perfect! A hint of cleavage, but only a hint. Caroline Bingley was no common tart to be indecent in public, but a little tasteful flaunting of one's assets in the privacy of one's own home was perfectly acceptable.

Careful to maintain her dignified pace as she descended the stairs once more, Caroline followed the trail of busy servants to the front parlor. She paused at the door a moment, seeing Charles speaking quietly to one side with Bailey and Mr. Darcy left quite alone in a chair before the fire.

Mr. Darcy's dark head was drooping towards his chest, his unruly hair appearing shockingly disheveled. Well, he had just been through a traumatic ordeal, she supposed. He was dressed in a tuxedo, as though out for an evening of entertainment. How well he looked in such formal attire! He would make a very handsome groom. From the position as his prospective wife, Caroline knew she must take care not to let him outshine her own beauty on what would be the biggest day of her life.

Fortunately, that wouldn't be too difficult to achieve. As attractive as Mr. Darcy might be, Caroline was not unconscious of her own pleasing face and figure.

Too bad that gentlemen seemed all unaware of those assets at this precise moment! He had not even looked up when she made a small coughing noise to announce her presence so that he might stand and greet her as he was supposed to.

Well, it was true that men were sometimes incapable of tolerating pain to the same degree that women were. She could forgive him this lapse in good manners considering the circumstances. He might even appreciate it if she were to condescend to playing nurse for him. Gathering her self-possession, Caroline entered the room with her arms flung out towards the figure sitting in the chair.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy!" she cried, ignoring Charles' misguided attempts to silence her. "I cannot believe this news. It is so shocking! Why do you sit there in the chair? I am certain we can find you some more comfortable place to rest while you wait for the doctor to attend to you. Are you very hurt? Is there anything I might fetch for you?"

Mr. Darcy's head jerked up at the sound of her voice, but he did not immediately rise even now that she had addressed him directly.

"Do not be so insensitive," he snapped, startling her with how very angry he sounded. "I was well enough as I was before you woke me."

Caroline halted as though she had been slapped, gaping openly at Mr. Darcy for a long moment before she could collect herself once again.

_I have heard that some men become angry as bears when they are tired or hurt! I did not think it could be true of Mr. Darcy, but so it is. He must be very tired and hurt to treat me in such a careless manner. But I will forgive him for now and, when he has recovered his usual sense, I will extract my price for tolerating him as I have. _

"Besides," Darcy added, speaking before she could make any kind response to even his harsh language, "it was not I who was gravely injured, but it is Elizabeth who needs all our care and attention." He nodded towards the couch to indicate who he meant, and Caroline turned to look, noticing for the first time that there was another person in the room.

Flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, Caroline snapped at her brother, who had dismissed Bailey and was looking on this exchange with entirely too much amusement. "You didn't inform me that Eliza Bennet would be here tonight."

Charles was actually ill-mannered enough to roll his eyes at her. "It isn't my fault if you weren't paying attention to everything Fitch said. Did you at least have two rooms prepared as I asked?"

"Two rooms?" Caroline echoed blankly, unwilling to believe that her own brother could ask such a thing of her. "You mean to have -" she jerked her chin in the direction of the couch "- _her_ stay here tonight? How extraordinary."

Charles looked exasperated and began a pointless lecture about how it was Elizabeth Bennet who was in need of medical care having been the one to be knocked unconscious in the accident.

Caroline stopped listening, feeling entirely flustered by this unwelcome development. What on earth would Elizabeth Bennet be doing in Mr. Darcy's company, alone and so late at night, and dressed in so rough a fashion? What could Mr. Darcy mean by squiring that wretched chit around in the back of his automobile and, when she got herself injured, apparently staying with her while he sent a servant for assistance?

She must have imposed on him in some fashion, Caroline decided. Mr. Darcy was, after all, a true gentleman and even though such persons as the Bennets were decidedly beneath his notice, it was possible that the chit had demanded assistance from him, trading upon the small acquaintance that they shared.

An acquaintance that would never had happened had Charles Bingley not been such a fool for a moderately pretty face.

"Do you hear me, Caroline?" Charles was asking now, looking unaccountably fierce. What was it tonight that was making all these men around her seem so disagreeable and crabby?

Honestly, she hadn't heard a word. "I'm so sorry, Charles. My mind seems to have wandered there for a moment. It must be due to the late hour. What were you saying?"

His reply was circumvented by the arrival of the doctor, who appeared to be neither young nor wealthy and who seemed determined that he should be the center of attention in the room. As he had saved her from having to listen to another one of her brother's tedious lectures, Caroline contented herself with a small sniff of derision as she watched the newcomer approach Elizabeth Bennet's side.

"Shouldn't you be seeing to Mr. Darcy first?" Caroline couldn't help but ask, appalled that the doctor would ignore a man who was so obviously in pain in order to see to a woman who appeared to be sleeping.

"Miss Bingley," it was Mr. Darcy who replied, his face and voice grim, "we have already informed you that it is Elizabeth who was badly injured in the accident. Kindly stand out of the way and let the doctor do his work."

"Yes, Caroline," Charles added, sounding nearly as severe as Mr. Darcy had. "In fact, why don't you go see to getting that second room put in order? Since you are so eager to be of assistance to our guests. I am certain they would appreciate your efforts."

Charles had never before so rudely or summarily dismissed her and Caroline stood for a moment, burning bright with indignation but unable to think of anything to say in reply that would appear gracious or ladylike.

"As you wish, Charles," she managed at last, leaving the room with her spine held straight and her chin in the air. How abominable her brother was to try to embarrass her so thoroughly in front of Mr. Darcy! It was as though Charles had quite forgotten how to be civil when in company.

Ah well, there were always ways to ensure that she could make something better of a bad situation. When Caroline found a servant, she ordered the girl to ready the worst guest room available. It was still superior to anything Eliza Bennet might reasonably expect, but it tended to be colder than the other rooms and one of the windows would rattle in its casements every time the wind blew. On a night such as this, it was certain to be gusting every few minutes. Let the self-involved chit try to sleep through that as easily as she did Mr. Darcy's pain and distress!

Satisfied with her work, Caroline returned to the front parlour where she discovered a most distressing sight. Eliza Bennet was sitting up on the couch, permitting the doctor to examine her head, but actually managing to smile at all the men in the room as though the polite attention they rendered her was somehow her due.

Mr. Darcy seemed more alert now than he had previously, and was leaning forward in his chair, as though to catch any word that the loathsome Eliza Bennet might utter! There was a certain look in his eye that Caroline did not quite like; it seemed too warm. He must be fevered or simply too exhausted to know what he was doing. There was no other explanation for the manner in which he had snapped at her and seemed almost to dote upon Eliza.

Caroline knew she must remind him of what was right and proper. Going further into the room, she greeted the other woman with an affectation of warm regard. "Ah, Miss Bennet! How good to see you awake and alert. It seems not long since I last had the pleasure of your company. Tell me, how is your family? Have they at last managed to air their little house of that awful smell?"

"Caroline!" Charles hissed, moving a step closer to her as though he would actually lay his hands on her. "Recall yourself. This is not a social call and you are being very rude."

It was really all too much. Mr. Darcy had not so much as glanced up at Caroline when she had entered the room and he seemed entirely blind to the rough manner in which Charles was persisting in treating her. How could Eliza Bennet be holding all of Mr. Darcy's attention, dressed like a ragamuffin and with blood all down her face?

Sparing a brief moment to be concerned that the wretched girl might have actually gotten blood on the couch cushions, Caroline began to back out of the room.

"I can see you are too ill-tempered to permit me to try to make conversation with anyone tonight," she said to Charles, as if she were bored of the whole affair. "Since I was just about to seek my own rest for the evening before all this _disturbance_ happened," - Caroline laid special emphasis on the word 'disturbance' and looked straight at Eliza Bennet as she did so - "I shall simply retire for the night now. I am certain everyone will be in better spirits in the morning after they've gotten some rest."

Turning with dignity, she left the parlor and ascended the staircase to gain her bedroom. Once there, she again went through the ritual of taking down her hair and removing her cosmetics, but this time she was careful not to remove all of them. Feeling very defiant, she decided to leave her door partly open, and even as she climbed into bed, she had no intention of actually resting. She would wait up, feigning sleep, until she heard Mr. Darcy go to bed across the hallway.

As she whiled away the minutes, Caroline entertained herself with lovely daydreams regarding how it would be when the two of them met in the hall when she would, by chance, be heading down towards the kitchens in search of some warm milk. Or, no. This was Mr. Darcy. She would tell him she was so fraught with worry for him that she could not sleep and must, therefore, seek the distraction of a good book and was on her way to the library to fetch one.

Alas for Caroline, such happy events were not to be! For when she at last heard footsteps approaching the room, they were accompanied by a male voice that belonged to neither Charles nor Mr. Darcy.

"Now, Miss Bennet," the voice said, "I believe you have suffered a concussion as you had trouble remembering new information just now. Your headache is to be expected, of course, but we need to monitor it to make certain it does not persist too long. If you have any trouble with dizziness or vomiting, Mr. Bingley will know to send for me.

"The best thing you can do right now is just to get some rest. I'm going have someone check on you every few hours, mostly just to monitor how you're progressing."

"Thank you," came Eliza's voice.

Angry and frustrated with both herself and her brother for having so neatly botched the scheme - Caroline _knew_ she should have told Charles explicitly which guest was to go in which room! - Caroline ground her teeth in futile rage as she listened to that horrid doctor give instructions to a maidservant to wake Eliza Bennet every two hours.

When she reflected that at least the other woman still would not get a good night's rest, Caroline almost cried in frustration when she realized that neither would Mr. Darcy.

She had been wrong when she had told her brother everyone would be more pleasant on the morrow. All her plots had been thrown so awry that it seemed now that no one at all would get a good night's sleep and least of all, Caroline.

* * *

**A/N:** I think I might be spoiling you all. But this chapter practically wrote itself once my beta suggested I do it from Caroline's pov. Hope you enjoyed it as much as we did! (I realize that makes me sound like I don't have a writing plan, but I really do. I think I have about eight more major plot points to cover before I'm done.)

Last chapter sparked a number of passionate responses, some I was quite surprised at. I really wish more of you had PM's enabled. As I can't PM, I won't bore everyone with replies here, though I do want to respond to** one** such review, from Erika. Thank you! That is exactly the sort of criticism I hope for. My thought in writing it had been that Darcy's vision showed him the outcome (Elizabeth being even more badly injured than she was) that would have occurred had he tried to interfere. When I do major edits, I will be sure to go into more depth there.

Speaking of edits, I just took the time to compile all my documents into one great big document and gave it a once-over. I'm horrified at the sheer amount of continuity errors I found. So that is something else I will eventually address and a very good reason to not take over two years to write a simple story.

That's more than enough from me, as usual. I'm going to go camp out in Elizabeth's thoughts as she deals with all the recent events. /twirls imaginary mustachio and cackles madly


	22. Chapter 22

A shrill cry pierced the early morning air, and Elizabeth awoke abruptly, sitting up too quickly before sinking back into the mound of pillows behind her, holding her still-tender head and groaning quietly in pain.

Closing her eyes against her current reality, she gritted her teeth and vowed for the umpteenth time that she was going to kill her sister. Not for the first time, there was a great deal of ambiguity in her mind as to which of her two sisters she was going murder. Currently, Lydia had moved to the top of the list by virtue of being the source of the scream that had just awakened Elizabeth from one of the first decent nights of sleep she'd had since the automobile accident.

Jane was on the list because _she_ had been the one to abandon Elizabeth to the unthinkably cruel fate of being forced to rely on Fanny Bennet's tender mercies as she made her all-too-slow recovery from the concussion she had sustained.

It had been three days of hell.

The morning after the accident had started off promisingly enough, despite the assorted painful demands of her body. Elizabeth had greeted the day late, taken breakfast in bed and held court from the same location as she was visited by an anxious Mr. Bingley, a decidedly irritated Caroline Bingley and a heart-squeezingly reserved Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth had dealt with each visitor in a different manner, according to who it was. She had thanked Bingley warmly, both for his hospitality and for his news that he had seen to notifying Jane of her whereabouts and condition. That her sister would not have had to wake to Elizabeth's unexplained absence and begin to panic was a blessing.

With Caroline's unwelcome visit, Elizabeth bore up as long as she could under the thinly-veiled litany of complaints leveled at her presence in the Bingley house before she at last wondered aloud why the other woman had come to see her at all. Caroline departed with an ugly look and a pointed comment about how a properly raised person would know to be grateful for a host's forbearance when one had made a nuisance of oneself.

There was no love lost between the two women.

Darcy's visit had been the last and the longest and Elizabeth had been so tongue-tied and awkward with him when he arrived that perhaps two full minutes elapsed almost without speech beyond his asking how she fared and she flushing unaccountably before murmuring that she was well enough given the circumstances.

It was the sight of his cane that at last inspired her to ask after his own general health and he admitted that he had suffered only a rather painful bruise to his knee but was otherwise unharmed.

The relief that had swept over Elizabeth had been so great that she had asked the next question almost without thinking, saying that she couldn't recall much of what had happened the previous night and asking Darcy if he wouldn't mind filling in the gaps in her memory.

Looking back on the exchange afterwards, she thanked God Himself that she had been looking directly at Darcy as she asked the question. There had been such an amazing expression there for just a moment before he mastered his face and assumed the mask of reserve that he normally wore and had she not seen it however briefly, she might never have understood that he had instantly assumed the worst, believing that she had herself forgotten every detail of their conversation prior to the accident.

"After the accident, I mean!" she had amended, blushing furiously. "I assure you, Sir, I do not believe anything could cause me to forget all that came before."

As though she had given him a signal that all was well and he need not fear to be himself, Darcy's mask had dissolved and he had closed his eyes with a look of gratitude so profound that Elizabeth felt her heart increase in speed and volume. Could he be indifferent towards her and have tried so hard to make amends with her the night before? Could he see her only as an acquaintance and still appear to be a man pulled back from the brink of despair at the knowledge that she had _not_ forgotten those efforts?

Was it possible that Darcy actually _cared_ for her?

The question was an ill-timed one in many ways, for she had neither the time nor the leisure in that moment to ponder it. And it was, perhaps, the pinnacle of a more comprehensive question, about how she might come to view their previous interactions in the light of all he had said. Now that she had put aside the lenses that had only allowed her to see anything he did or said in the worst possible light, she must go back over their every interaction and decide what the truth of those exchanges might have been.

She had misjudged him at every turn and all because his first actions had wounded her pride.

It was with such thoughts taking up the back portion of her mind that she listened as Darcy recounted the events following the accident. As she listened, she was struck by how much feeling was in his voice as he spoke of Fitch and Bingley's efforts to save them both from the stranded automobile. Particularly when it came to his driver, Darcy was not unaware of the courage and sacrifice the other men had made on his own behalf.

For the first time, Elizabeth had found herself pondering the extent to which a man such as Darcy might feel responsible for those around him and those in his employ. He was not a monster to callously disregard the value of other lives in selfish regard for his own comfort. Following the thought through to the natural conclusion that Darcy took his responsibilities as an employer seriously, she at last felt the full force of her shame at her own demeaning words and thoughts towards Darcy break over her.

She still didn't know exactly why he had fired her - a question she was becoming more and more determined to get a straight answer to, eventually - but the evidence of his character seemed to indicate that it would have been for a good reason.

Did it not?

She had not then been free to muse on the question of Darcy's worth as an employer in the light of his treatment of Fitch versus his treatment of herself and George Wickham, but the past three days of enforced bed rest and lack of intelligent conversation either with or between her stepmother and younger sister had given her ample time to come to the conclusion that she was willing to believe Darcy may have had a good motive in each case, but she could not entirely forgive his part in her situation unless he might someday prove to her that he'd had some greater interest at heart.

They'd had little time to converse further after he had informed her of the events following the accident, for Mrs. Bennet had arrived in a flurry of wails, nerves and imprecations.

That's when Elizabeth's own version of hell had come to life before her very eyes. It took some time to pry anything sensible out of Mrs. Bennet's mouth, but it soon became apparent that she had taken it upon herself to come and "rescue" her "darling" daughter, certain that Mr. Bingley would not like the "imposition" of her being beneath his roof when he was so busy with work and had his own social life to attend to in any case.

Wishing that Jane had seen better fit to not pass on the news of her accident to their parents, Elizabeth nevertheless agreed with some alacrity that of course she was well enough to travel back to the Bennet household to finish recuperating. It went against her own plan to return to the flat she and Jane shared, but it seemed wiser to agree to Fanny's schemes than to object and get her stepmother thinking of other possibilities. It was really almost a shock that Fanny hadn't declared Elizabeth to be much too unwell to move and offered to have Jane come around to play nurse.

In order to forestall such a terrible imposition, Elizabeth would have said anything. At her agreement to leave, Elizabeth could not help but cast another look at Darcy. He stood off to one side and watched with the oddest expression of bemusement plastered across his face, seeming for once to have quite forgotten his usual mask of reserve.

They did not get an opportunity to speak further, though Darcy did inform her on her way out the door that he would see to notifying the appropriate people at Blue Line that she would be out for several days as she recovered. The gesture so touched her that she almost embarrassed herself by crying, but was able to thank him with a wobbly smile, wondering if he knew how much it relieved her to know that she would not have to deal with Mr. Collins herself.

Her plan had been to leave with her stepmother, spend a few hours with her and then make her own excuses to return back to her flat where she might actually have some chance of making a full recovery. Fate intervened however, and somewhere during the course of those few hours, Elizabeth had actually passed out and had awoken to find herself firmly installed in her old bedroom with even her usually insouciant father exceedingly insistent that she was in no condition to be moved and would, perforce, remain where she was until she could prove she was well enough to return to her flat.

The trial before her was to make it through a full day in company with her family without nodding off during a dull moment or, after she had once stood up too quickly and taken a few ill-advised dizzy steps, walking in "such an alarming manner."

After three days, Elizabeth was beginning to seriously fear she might never be proclaimed well enough to leave. She might have overridden her stepmother's frivolous concerns, but her father's unrestrained anxiety for her safety was enough to convince her to acquiesce.

Still, had she been able to see the fresh horror that was descending upon her at speed on this third day of her own personal hell, she might have defied even his wishes if it meant avoiding the spectacle that her afternoon turned into.

* * *

"Lizzie!" Lydia's bellow could be heard long before she appeared in the doorway of the parlor, practically vibrating with high spirits.

Wincing at the noise, though in truth her headaches were less frequent by now, Elizabeth sighed as she inquired what her sister's message might be.

"You would never guess!" Lydia proclaimed brightly, not taking the trouble to speak in a more hushed tone. "So I shall just tell you. There is a man at the door and he is asking to see you. Mama is getting to know him but he should be back directly."

Having said this, Lydia came further into the room and flopped into a chair, sprawling inelegantly and looking as though she had no plans of ever leaving. "Lord!" she exclaimed, her next words causing a fervent hope to spring to life in Elizabeth's heart that perhaps Mr. Darcy had come to call, "I had no idea you worked with such attractive people! One would never know it to look at your friend, Charlotte."

"Lyddie," Elizabeth sat up, indignant. "You will not speak so rudely. Sit up straight, or better yet, go to your room."

Her younger sister rolled her eyes but adjusted her posture in her chair until she looked more like a caricature of a lady than she did an actual lady with poise.

Elizabeth ignored her, knowing that Lydia craved all attention, whether it was good or bad, and to deprive her of it was the greatest punishment that could be inflicted on the flighty young girl. This effect was, however, only a benefit to what she would have done in any case: panic at the thought that Darcy had shown up at her parents' house.

Her hands went to her hair and Elizabeth peered at her own reflection in a mirror that hung on the opposite wall, sighing in resignation at the thought that he wouldn't even notice her hair when it was her forehead that caught the eye, all ugly swollen purples and sickly yellows.

Giving herself a pep talk as she waited for him to be shown to the room, she pushed all thoughts of what her stepmother might possibly be saying to him at the door out of her mind and resolved to mention as soon as possible that Fanny Bennet was, in fact, a _step_mother and not her own actual blood relative. With a spare moment to wonder what had prompted the call, Elizabeth had gotten as far as convincing herself that it could not possibly be meant as anything other than a friendly visit when he entered the room, her stepmother fluttering around his elbow like a demented moth to a flame.

"You have a visitor, Lizzie!" Fanny declared unnecessarily.

And Elizabeth felt the hope in her chest die out, as suddenly as though someone had thrown a bucket of water on a flickering candle. For the tall man standing next to her stepmother and appearing to actually be charmed or amused by her antics was not William Darcy.

It was George Wickham.

"Oh!" Elizabeth cried. "I didn't think it would be you."

He laughed at her, perfect teeth gleaming, seeming not at all nonplussed by her less-than-enthusiastic greeting. "Who else would it be?" he asked reasonably. "Collins?"

A sound of absolute revulsion at the very notion crossed Elizabeth's lips before she could prevent it. George laughed again, so she forced a smile onto her lips, hoping it looked natural, wondering the whole time why she was so disappointed that it was George and not Darcy. Come to that, she wondered why she had ever even thought Darcy might visit. He'd had ample time to do so before now and had not made the effort. Perhaps their relationship - whatever it was - was still too tenuous for him to feel comfortable in showing up at her parents' home.

And considering her parents and her sister, not to mention the fact that the small house had not seen much upkeep since the night of the family dinner with the Bingleys, perhaps it was for the best that Darcy was not here. A week ago, Elizabeth would have said that she did not care what his opinion of her relations might have been; odd, how quickly she had come to desire his good estimation!

But he was not here and this line of thinking was pointless in the extreme. Elizabeth tried to push it away, only to have difficulty doing so which in turn caused her to wonder again why she should be so affected by the mere thought of Darcy.

Was it possible that her traitorous heart knew already the thing that she dared not contemplate? Was she so changeable a creature that the scarcest idea that Darcy might care for her could be enough for her to believe herself half in love with him in return?

_This will not do!_ she thought, and forced her attention back to the occupants of the room. Lydia and Fanny were tittering over something George must have said, each of them having seated themselves while she had not been attending.

Reaffixing her smile, Elizabeth thanked George for coming to see her and asked how he had managed to track her down.

"Charlotte pointed me to your flat," he admitted. "And your sister was kind enough to direct me here. I'm under strict orders from Charlotte to ascertain your health, when you might return to work and to inquire whatever happened to you after work on Friday."

He spoke easily and Elizabeth found herself wondering if that were due to his having an unfamiliar audience in the form of her family or if Charlotte had not disclosed to him that the last time she had seen Elizabeth, Elizabeth had been making awkward conversation with one Mr. Darcy, new owner of Blue Line and the object of mutual dislike that had brought Wickham and Elizabeth together as friends in the first place.

"I see!" she said, attempting her usual liveliness as she made a careful reply. "You may tell Charlotte that I'm on the mend and that I hope to return to work within the next few days. As to the last, well," she gestured to the ugly bruise on her forehead, "I went out and got myself injured."

Nearly holding her breath in anticipation of his asking how exactly she had come by the injury, Elizabeth was oddly relieved when he didn't press for further details but instead turned the conversation to a recitation on his part of everything that had gone wrong the night before. It was a humorous retelling, but Elizabeth could not fully engage, wondering at the strange sense of disquiet that had taken up residence somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

As Wickham concluded with a description of what Collins had looked like as he had dashed about trying to help with pulling down a machine but doing more to get in the way, Fanny interjected herself into the conversation again.

"I daresay you don't seem very interested in what is going on at work without you, Lizzie," she scolded. "Does your head pain you? Would you like some tea? That is just the thing for a headache," she went on to confide in Wickham, touching his arm and leaning in as though imparting some grave secret. "Peppermint tea. Nothing like it. I'll just go and fetch some for my poor Lizzie.

"Lyddie? Come along with me and help."

Three sets of eyes came to rest on Mrs. Bennet in varying degrees of consternation. Elizabeth's was tinged with mortification that her stepmother should invent so obviously flimsy an excuse to get herself and Lydia out of the room, leaving her alone with Wickham.

For his part, Wickham seemed more amused than anything else, and his grin only widened when Lydia rolled her eyes and objected.

"I am certain you are perfectly capable of making tea by yourself!" The younger girl's voice pitched upwards in a whine. "You've done it a thousand times before without my help."

Mrs. Bennet had half risen from her chair and paused part way to fix her younger daughter with a look that was anything but subtle. Her eyebrows raised, she cut her eyes from Lydia to the door and then darted a look between Elizabeth and George Wickham. "Do as you're told for once, Lyddie! Come along now!"

Lydia huffed in reply and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms under her bosom in childish refusal to leave.

As the byplay unfolded, Elizabeth found herself wishing to disappear in sheer embarrassment. She knew not whose behavior was more mortifying and was about to break the stalemate by offering to go get her own tea - and to offer the hospitality of the house to Wickham as well, since such a thought had completely escaped her stepmother - when it seemed that salvation had come in the form of another caller at the front door.

"Go and see who is at the door please, Lyddie," Mrs. Bennet directed. "I will fetch the tea along."

This time, Lydia made no real complaints about doing as she was bid, clearly hopeful that whoever was at the door would prove to be some company or better diversion for herself. In the matter of a few seconds, the room had cleared and Elizabeth found herself offering yet another insincere smile to George Wickham.

"I'm sorry about my sister," she apologized. "She can be rather willful, I'm afraid."

"Think nothing of it," Wickham replied, still smiling easily. "I have no siblings of my own, but my past friendship with a _certain gentleman_ and his younger sister has taught me to understand that the teenage years can be rather trying."

Elizabeth frowned before she could stop herself and Wickham was quick to catch and interpret the expression.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "Georgiana was a sweet enough girl as a child, but when I last knew her, she was too much like her elder brother. I hope she will be able to correct her course and regain some of that early sweetness, but I fear it will not happen unless she is able to break free of his influence."

Elizabeth did not immediately know how she wished to reply. On the one hand, she knew she had no right to speak sharply to Wickham for his casual maligning of Darcy and his family, but on the other hand, she knew she had encouraged it and said things just as bad, or perhaps even worse, herself.

"I think," she said slowly, "that perhaps I was wrong about Mr. Darcy. I will not presume to speak ill of his sister, whom I have never met."

The shock was evident on Wickham's face; he made no attempt to conceal it. The surprise gave way to the beginnings of a sneer and he opened his mouth to speak, stopping abruptly when one of the very objects of their conversation came into the room. Mr. Darcy halted abruptly in the doorway at the sight of George Wickham seated opposite Elizabeth, and drew himself up to his full height, face going red with some strong emotion barely contained behind his mask.

Darting her eyes back to Wickham's face, Elizabeth saw it had gone quite blank with astonishment and seemed drained all of color or animation. After a moment, he smirked up at Darcy, gaining his own feet and nodding politely to Elizabeth.

"I see it is time for me to be gone. Good day."

In just a few steps he had crossed the room and was forced to stand a moment, waiting for Darcy to clear the doorway. The two men held each other's gazes the whole while, neither one speaking. The look on Darcy's face was now pure contempt and when he at last deigned to move out of the path, he did so in such a manner that seemed to proclaim that the movement was not born of politeness but rather a hearty wish to have the other man out of his sight.

Once George Wickham had gone, Darcy finally turned to face Elizabeth for the first time, still appearing as tense and displeased as he had been as soon as he had entered the room to find the other man there. He took a deep breath and then spoke his first words since arriving.

"Just what the hell do you mean by carrying on with that man?"

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, Darcy. *shakes head* You were doing so well!

So my humblest apologies to everyone that it has taken this short eternity for me to get my act together enough to get another chapter out. April and May were Awful Coworker Nightmare months that finally resolved in said Awful Coworker getting their ass fired. It made me so happy that I should probably be a little ashamed of myself.

In that same period of time, I did manage to write a one shot, called _Past, Imperfect_. If you missed it because you only follow this story, you might want to check it out. It's modern and there's a lot more salty language. Fair warning. You can find it by clicking on my profile.

Ever since then, the delay has been due to a wicked case of writer's block, I'm sad to say. I have no better excuse than that. I will mention that the chapter you just read was something like the 5th or 6th iteration, and it's still far from anything I'm terribly proud of, but it's better than the previous attempts. So it's what you get.

The next chapter is already begun. I think that cliffhanger I'm leaving you with bothers even me, so I'll do what I can to resolve it ASAP.

Thanks for reading and for sticking with me even when I fail!

-Imp


	23. Chapter 23

Darcy knew the words were a mistake even before he spoke them. He could feel them shape themselves in his mind and it was as though there was nothing at all in the way between the thinking and the uttering. He had not actually _decided_ to say anything so cold or accusatory to Elizabeth, but there he had done so and it was too late to recall even a syllable.

The thing was, he had just suffered the hell of a shock. He'd had no idea that Elizabeth might have even known George Wickham, let alone known him well enough to be entertaining him alone in her parents' parlor.

Would that lying snake of a man never be fully ousted from Darcy's life? Was it not enough that he had so grievously injured Georgiana, must he now also be insinuating himself into the life of the woman Darcy loved?

Was it possible that Wickham had done so only because it might hurt Darcy?

Ridiculous. And yet, what about this situation _wasn't_?

Darcy had made such progress with Elizabeth only a few days ago, and had waited with barely restrained impatience for enough time to pass that it might be seemly for him to spend time with her again. After Elizabeth had been bundled away from the Bingley household to convalesce with her parents, Darcy had been perfectly at leisure to think that all obstacles in his path were nearly overcome. He was almost certain that he had somehow managed to earn some small portion of her regard in the minutes leading up the accident.

It was all he had needed: a toehold in her heart that he might gently enlarge into an entire hollowed out chamber where his own heart might come to rest, safe in the assurance of mutual love and devotion.

But with those careless words hovering in the air between them and in the stricken look in Elizabeth's eyes, Darcy knew that he had lost even that toehold. He silently cursed himself for a fool as Elizabeth's face gradually hardened with some new resolve and she rose to her feet, seeming shaky for a moment but almost instantly regaining her equilibrium.

"Wait," he pleaded, throwing up a hand as though to forestall her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to come out in such a rude fashion."

Her dark eyes were wary as she regarded him. "So you do mean to question with whom I spend my time?"

Yes, he had most definitely misstepped.

"Not as such," he replied awkwardly, one hand coming up to the back of his neck as though to hide the tell-tale redness that was climbing into view from underneath his collar. "It's just... I was surprised. That man and I have a history and it's not a pleasant one."

"So I've heard." Her voice was dry but there was more than a little curiosity edging her words.

"I have no way of knowing what he might have said to you," Darcy gave in to the impulse to try to protect her from Wickham's deceitful ways, "but you need to know that very little of what that man says has ever had more than a passing resemblance to the truth."

Elizabeth arched a brow in a sign of challenge and crossed her arms. "He says you were boyhood friends but that you cut him out of your life once you realized he was poor and you were wealthy. He also says you fired him." She lay a delicate but unmistakable emphasis on the last few words.

Wincing, Darcy gestured to the couch behind Elizabeth and asked, "Could we sit? I wish to explain but it may take some time."

"Certainly," Elizabeth acquiesced and sank gracefully back into the seat she had just vacated.

Darcy did not immediately follow suit; he was standing nearest to the chair where Wickham had installed himself and though he knew it was silly, he did not want to sit where the other man had been. While it was certainly all in his imagination that Wickham exuded some foul substance wherever he went, Darcy still could not bring himself to put his own person in proximity with anything that had been tainted by that vileness.

Casting a swift glance around the room, he settled on an armchair that put him at a diagonal to Elizabeth's position, but not one that was so extreme it would be difficult to converse. He sank into the cushions and kept sinking, much to his chagrin. The chair was evidently an old one, and whatever springs it might have possessed had long since given up the pretense of cushioning the chair.

It was impossible to feel dignified as he sat awkwardly in the cavernous seat and matters were not helped any by the amused smile that Elizabeth tried and failed to hide, but Darcy decided he would much rather have her laughing, even if it were at his own expense, than he would have her angry.

Once situated, Darcy realized that he had no idea of where to begin. Addressing what Elizabeth had relayed to him of Wickham's words seemed like the safest bet, so he took a deep breath and put on his most earnest expression. Leaning forward, with his knees being somewhere several inches higher than his backside, was impossible.

"Most of what he told you has at least a portion of truth to it," Darcy admitted. "But it's only a surface truth. George Wickham and I were childhood friends. His father was my father's right-hand man for many things and Wickham and I were often in each other's company.

"It wasn't until later in life that anything changed, and when it did, I can assure you it had nothing to do with our respective economic statuses. Without going too far into detail, Wickham grew wild and demonstrated the most vicious want of principles in his behavior. I could no longer be friends with a man who had so far departed from the moral codes we had both been raised to believe in."

Darcy shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with Elizabeth's perfectly blank face. She gave no hint what she might be thinking as a response to his recitation, but he was not inclined to elaborate further on what Wickham's sins had been. Not only was it not his story, there were certain things that were simply not fit for a lady's ears.

As he shifted, the chair gave off a horrendous creaking noise and he quickly stilled, wondering if he shouldn't abandon his pretense at dignity and change seats.

"As to the charge about my firing him, I admit I did. However, I cannot tell you precisely why. I can tell you only that there were extenuating circumstances. It was not a matter of personal dislike, though I freely admit I had since learned to loathe the man, but I never make decisions such as that lightly. Particularly not when I had been trying to honor my dead father's memory and wishes by providing a job for the son of his friend."

"It is _very_ convenient," Elizabeth mused aloud, following a short silence as she digested his words, "that you always seem to have some mysterious reason that you cannot disclose what led you to making the decision that you did.

"Furthermore," she pursued, not allowing him to make any kind of reply to her stinging comment, "from my own experience, I cannot say that I yet have any proof that you did make a well-reasoned decision to terminate my employment. From my vantage point, it rather appears that the decision was terribly hasty, considering you had only just met me and had not given me any chance to prove my worth."

Abandoning any pretense of complacency or dignity, Darcy struggled to his feet, the chair filling what would have otherwise been a tense silence with the sighs and moans of its protest.

"I begin to think, Miss Bennet," he said, having finally gained his feet, "that you have been dishonest with me. I have certainly kept my own secrets when it has been important, but I have never lied to you."

She surged to her own feet, seeming not at all shaky this time, and not being at all the sort of woman who could possibly take any sort of challenge in a passive manner.

"Do you require honesty from me?" she demanded, hands on hips and her dark eyes ablaze with indignation. "Then let me _honestly_ tell you that I was willing to overlook my grievances with you for the sake of perhaps pursuing some sort of friendship, but I find it impossible to do so when all your secrets are more important to you than my feelings are.

"And I _honestly_ can't say I want a friend who has no idea of how to do anything other than be a pompous, self-righteous, overbearing monster who thinks he must be in control of everyth-"

Elizabeth cut herself short, eyes going past him to the door. Darcy turned to see what had ended her tirade, finding an older woman who was holding a tea tray and staring in open-mouthed consternation at the arguing pair.

Shutting his own mouth firmly, Darcy found himself studying the tops of his shoes as he attempted to come to grips with all the conflicting thoughts and emotions that were warring for dominance in his mind. He was embarrassed and angry and confused all at once, wondering whether his Second Sight had been wrong about Elizabeth or if he was in fact to blame for all their past and present difficulties in communicating.

She had a certain irrefutable point, after all, that he was full of secrets.

Before he could think overly long on just how irrefutable that point really was, the newcomer to the room drew his attention away from himself and settled it firmly on herself.

"Who is this, Lizzie?" she demanded, voice shrill. "I leave you here with one handsome young man and come back to find you with another? Is that delightful Mr. Wickham still around?" The woman peered around the room as though expecting to find Wickham lurking in some corner, previously unnoticed.

"Mama," Elizabeth sighed, voice tight with what Darcy took to be all the anger of the words she had just swallowed. "Mr. Wickham had to leave. This is Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, this is my stepmother, Mrs. Fanny Bennet."

"Oh!" Mrs. Bennet cried, and Darcy wondered if his name meant anything to her or if she were simply excitable. It soon proved to be the latter as the older woman came further into the room, setting her tea tray on the battered coffee table and speaking so rapidly that it was difficult to follow her disjointed sentences.

"I had no idea you knew so many fine young men, Lizzie," she beamed. "And how nice of them all to come and visit you, though it is a shame that nice Mr. Wickham had to leave so soon. Although this young man seems a more than suitable compensation for the loss."

Here, she eyed Darcy in a way that would have had him blushing had he been much younger or more inexperienced. "Mr. Darcy you say? I think that name is familiar to me although I cannot quite fathom why.

"No, I have it! You are Mr. Bingley's particular friend, are you not?"

Darcy opened his mouth to acknowledge that he was, but Mrs. Bennet evidently didn't need the confirmation for she continued on without giving him a chance to speak. "_Such_ a nice young man, that Mr. Bingley. He is quite taken with my Jane, I think. But who could not be? She is so terribly pretty to look at and really quite clever. But I flatter myself that both my girls are uncommonly pretty. Have you met Lydia? I had really thought she would be back in here already but I suppose she is not."

Feeling out of his depth with this chattering woman, Darcy looked to Elizabeth in the vain hope that she would give him some sign of what would be expected for him to do in this situation. Her face was shuttered though, impassive as she busied herself with the things on the tea tray and then buried her nose in her cup.

Looking between the two women, Darcy only half-listened as Mrs. Bennet prattled on about this person named Lydia that she had just brought up, enumerating such good qualities as "young" and "lively" in her exuberant descriptions. It was as he gingerly eased himself into the chair he had first scorned for having been Wickham's that Darcy finally understood that this Lydia was Mrs. Bennet's daughter.

All at once, several things fell into place. Mrs. Bennet had been introduced as Elizabeth's stepmother and the two girls that the older woman had referenced earlier had not been Jane and Elizabeth, but Jane and Lydia. Darcy felt himself growing indignant with Mrs. Bennet as she carried on talking about anything and everything other than the reason that he had come; it was as though Elizabeth were not even in the room or had not recently sustained a very bad head injury.

Feeling himself grow by stages from indignant to resentful to outright angry, Darcy attempted to keep all such emotion from his face, adopting the neutral mask he used whenever he did not want to betray his innermost thoughts.

_I will just wait until she asks another question_, Darcy purposed. _And then I will somehow turn the conversation back to Elizabeth. She looks more and more unwell. Her face is so white. All this carrying on cannot be good for her. _

_Not that I have been any better for her health, _he thought bitterly._ Coming in here and first accusing her and then upsetting her. Will I never manage to get anything right? _

Mrs. Bennet seemed to require no help whatsoever in carrying on a conversation, it seemed. Every time she posed a question, she would answer it herself in the very next moment, usually without pausing for so much as a breath. Despite himself, Darcy was almost fascinated. He had never been with anyone who seemed to so love the sound of her own voice, though he supposed Caroline Bingley and a certain autocratic aunt of his were close contenders.

Normally he would not mind, since it would spare him from having to even do much to pretend to be interested in whatever the conversation was about, let alone come up with measured responses. But this infernal woman was not only keeping him from having a conversation with Elizabeth that he desperately wanted to have, no matter how badly it had begun, but he was certain that Mrs. Bennet was also wholly ignorant of the fact that her ceaseless chatter could only be worsening Elizabeth's condition.

And still, she did not stop. She seemed likely to never run out of things to say. At length, Darcy could take it no longer and he stood abruptly. The motion seemed to startle Mrs. Bennet, for she ceased talking all at once, craning her neck to stare up at him as though in shock. Elizabeth, too, had her eyes fixed upon him, her face seeming pinched as though in pain.

"Forgive me," he said automatically. "But you really must see that Elizabeth is not at all well enough to engage in lengthy conversation."

* * *

For the second time in a handful of days, Elizabeth had the supreme satisfaction of telling the insufferable Mr. Darcy exactly what she thought of him. What he meant by showing up at her parents' home and berating her for spending time with someone he didn't approve of, she had no idea, but at least he'd had the good sense to back down on that point.

Still, she was irritated at his intrusion and at the return of his more high-handed and arrogant ways. Perhaps the Mr. Darcy that she had encountered just before the accident had been the anomalous version of the man and she had been correct to think poorly of him for as long as she had.

It was her irritation with him that had prompted her peevish remarks about his constantly keeping secrets about his motivations. She wasn't certain whether or not she regretted her hasty words as of yet. She felt she had every right to point out that he expected her to meekly go along with whatever he wanted and never - well, _rarely_ - could compromise his own position or pride enough to actually hear or understand her viewpoint.

Perhaps it wasn't worth even attempting to be friends with a man such as him, who was so thoroughly awful at communicating honestly or completely.

Elizabeth dismissed the thought nearly as soon as it occurred to her. The Mr. Darcy of several nights ago who had been so humble and thoughtful and sweet was a man worth knowing. He was a man Elizabeth would want to know rather well, the truth be told. But if he was not really a good man at his very core, it was not enough for him to be extraordinary only ten percent of the time and insufferable the other ninety percent.

She thought as she accused him of being too secretive that perhaps she had finally gotten through to him. There was a flash of something in his eyes that might have been understanding or enlightenment.

So naturally she had to keep going and to call him names and then be interrupted by the untimely arrival of her stepmother with the tea tray.

Almost grateful for the way in which Mrs. Bennet immediately seized control of all the conversation in the room following Elizabeth's terse introductions, Elizabeth sat back down and childishly refused to acknowledge the nightmare that this day had become, hiding her face in a cup of too-strong peppermint tea.

Despite her outward show of disinterest, Elizabeth listened carefully to her stepmother's stream-of-consciousness ramblings, ready to do anything from smashing her teacup to faking a seizure if she should need to shut the older woman up. But the topics were mostly safe and wholly typical for Mrs. Bennet. If Darcy actually wanted to be friends with her at all, he might as well know what her familial baggage looked and sounded like.

The longer Mrs. Bennet carried on about Lydia's good qualities both real and imagined, the more frequently Elizabeth dared to dart looks at Darcy's face to see how he was bearing up under the onslaught.

It didn't take long for his mask to fall into place and even less time for anger or impatience to reveal cracks in the façade. As the transformation took place, Elizabeth could feel her own face tighten in utter embarrassment and she began rather fervently to wish that, for just the once, Mrs. Bennet would display some social graces and shut up.

All at once, Darcy stood and looked at Mrs. Bennet as severely as Elizabeth had once imagined he might, interrupting not a wailing prayer but a recitation of neighborhood gossip about which he could not possibly be interested. It was enough to startle her stepmother into silence and Elizabeth quite forgot that she hadn't meant for him to catch her looking at him.

This was it, then. He was about to say something rather rude but entirely justified and he would leave and would congratulate himself on not pursuing even a friendship with Elizabeth. After all, even if Bingley were to marry Jane, there was no possible way that it would then follow that they would be thrown much into each other's company. Her time of knowing Darcy was at an end and it made her unexpectedly sad.

But what came out of Darcy's mouth was not some cutting remark or obvious excuse about why he needed to depart.

_You really must see that Elizabeth is not at all well enough to engage in lengthy conversation._

The look he gave to Mrs. Bennet was actually rather ungracious, given how pointed it was, but Elizabeth found that she did not care. She could not censure him for it. Not when he had come so unexpectedly and so thoughtfully to her defense.

Naturally, Mrs. Bennet managed to miss the meaning of the look and she sprang all at once to her feet, reaching out to clutch at Darcy's arm. "Oh, Mr. Darcy! You need not be going so soon! Why, you've barely said a word at all and I'm sure Lizzie cannot be so ungrateful for your concern that she would want you to leave."

Mrs. Bennet turned and gave her stepdaughter a hard look, commanding her without words to fall in line with her wishes. Then, perhaps feeling that this was not enough to communicate her desire, she ordered, "Do tell Mr. Darcy you are quite all right, Lizzie. He need not go."

Feeling shame stain her cheeks red, Elizabeth could not look at Darcy as she replied, not altogether dutifully.

"I admit I have something of a headache, but I assure you that it's quite normal for me these days. And as it pains me whether or not I am exposed to other noises, I can assure you that I do not mind the distraction that some conversation affords."

"Is the tea not helping, Lizzie?" Mrs. Bennet inquired, suddenly all solicitude for her stepdaughter's wellbeing. "Is there anything else I might get you? Some remedy we might try?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply that she could not think of anything, but Darcy surprised her again by turning to Mrs. Bennet and asking in very formal tones whether they had tried butterbur extract.

"Why, no," Mrs. Bennet admitted. "I do not believe we even have any. Do you know, Lizzie?"

Hiding a smile at her stepmother's obvious attempt to seem as though she knew what Mr. Darcy was referencing, Elizabeth murmured that she didn't believe there was any in the house.

"Well then," Mrs. Bennet came firmly to her feet. "I will just have to go to the apothecary shop and get you some. If this fine young man thinks it will help you, then we must try it! You have no idea how much it pains me to think of you suffering on and on the way you have been."

With only two or three more remarks about how hard it was on her to see Lizzie suffer, Mrs. Bennet was at last out of the room and on her way out of the house.

Looking over to Darcy, Elizabeth laughed lightly. "Is there any such thing as butterbur extract or is that something you made up in order to get her to leave for a while?"

"Oh, it's quite real," he assured her. "A little difficult to find, but it should actually be helpful if she manages to procure it."

Feeling at all once unaccountably shy, Elizabeth murmured her thanks and then dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting her fingers together nervously.

"It seems I owe you yet another apology," Darcy broke the silence, his voice low. "I assure you that I did not come here intending that we should argue again. It seems I have a knack for saying precisely the wrong thing where you're concerned."

She looked up, feeling her heart accelerate slightly at his words. "It takes two to argue," she observed. "I'm sorry for letting my temper get the better of me and for calling you names."

Darcy shook his head. "I am not accustomed to thinking very ill of myself, but I do not think you spoke without justification. I have not appeared to be very fair on the surface of things. If it helps, I can assure you that it is not my secret I will not tell when it comes to the issue of George Wickham. It is someone else's secret I _cannot_ tell. I would not betray this other person's trust."

The mood between them was gentle now, as it had been the night of the accident, so Elizabeth nodded her acceptance of his statement and did not comment further.

Another silence descended between them, this one somewhat awkward. Elizabeth could not think of a single thing to say that might be on a topic safe enough that it wouldn't lead directly to another fight. The realization was sobering, raising as it did the question of whether she could ever actually be friendly with Darcy or if they had so much between them that would put them at opposition with each other that they would never be able to fully clear the air.

After several more long moments, Darcy cleared his throat and stood. "I should probably go. You really do seem as though you could use some peace and quiet and I... I believe I have much to think on. But I would like to see you again soon, if you'll permit it."

Hiding both her disappointment at his going and her sudden surge of excitement at his wanting to see her again, Elizabeth forced a smile onto her lips. "I would like to see you soon, as well. Hopefully I'll have escaped this prison in a day or two and be back at my flat."

Darcy smiled, but seemed distant as they finished saying their farewells. Long after he had gone, Elizabeth could not help but wonder what he had been thinking and whether he would ever share those thoughts with her.

* * *

A/N: **Welp. **

It's... progress. Right?

Don't worry, they will have the big old talk they need to have very soon. This one just got away from me as soon as Mrs. Bennet came in the room. She's a handful. Maybe even two handfuls. Possibly many handfuls.

_Anyhow._ I have what may or may not be a fun challenge for you guys. See, when I started writing this chapter, my beta demanded that I work in either the word "backside" or the word "derriere." Since I have no problem talking about butts (lol), I was like, SOLD. She has already demanded a different word make it into the next chapter, and I am totally up to the challenge.

If any of you want to join in, feel free to leave me a word. There will be some exceptions (ie: no profanity, because it just doesn't fit); I'm obviously not going to butcher my story just to try to include anything super random. But, you know, if you have a favorite word and want to see me work it in, feel free to throw it at me within the next few days. If I don't manage to work it in, I guess you get a golf clap or something. It'll look like this:

*clap*

*clap*

*clap*

Okay, enough nonsense from me. It's been a long week and it's only Tuesday. Send help and wine and reviews.

xoxo

-Imp


	24. Chapter 24

As Elizabeth had hoped, she was soon proclaimed well enough to resume to her normal life and was permitted to return to her flat without accruing any more guilt trips than was usual for her family.

Kindly as her father and stepmother's interference had been meant, it was beyond a relief to regain her privacy and to live in a place that almost never heard the sorts of screeching effusions that were the common way of life at the Bennet household.

And yet, relieved as she was to be back at her own home, she also felt oddly at loose ends. Missing an entire week of work was only part of it, albeit a large part. Other changes had crept in without her quite realizing it, and Elizabeth found she was having some difficulty in making the adjustment.

For one thing, Jane was gone more often than not these days, her relationship with Bingley having progressed even beyond where they had been before he had broken things off with her. It seemed that the time they had spent apart had made them both so miserable that they were both more willing to make themselves vulnerable to the other person if it meant keeping anything similar from happening again.

In other words, they were deeply, sincerely, sickeningly in love. So much so that when Bingley came over the first night of Elizabeth's return, she had felt almost like an intruder in her own home, the pair of them were so involved with each other. It wasn't even that they were making overt displays of affection so much as it was the little touches here and the shared, secret smiles there. Jane would soon be gone, Elizabeth realized, and though she had thought so before, it was far more real now.

The rest of her unsettled state, she thought she could safely blame on Mr. Darcy. Though he had not actually told her very much when they had spoken at her parents' home, it had been enough to get her mind working on the puzzle he had presented. If Darcy and Wickham had a past that went well beyond the bare facts each had given her, then who was really at fault for the falling out between them?

There had been truth in Wickham's looks when he had shared his information with her - but a guileless countenance could hide all manner of secrets. Darcy had certainly been less forthcoming, but it didn't then follow that he was any less truthful for all his reticence. If anything, it had seemed that he was protecting someone else by not exposing whatever Wickham's sins might have been.

Ultimately, did Wickham's story even really matter? It had seemed important when it served to corroborate the details of her own first encounters with Darcy, so as to have something to justify her hatred of him. That she had wanted that justification at all now seemed telling, as though she had known all along that she was being somewhat less than fair in persisting in thinking the absolute worst of Darcy even when he had begun to prove he was not entirely bad.

Still, it would be easier to know which of the two men was more correct in his assessment of the other. According to Wickham, Darcy was proud, controlling and obsessed with money. According to Darcy, Wickham had demonstrated a vicious want of principles. Once, Elizabeth would not have given the slightest bit of consideration to Darcy's side of things, blinded as she would have been by her own anger. Now, she could only wonder endlessly and fruitlessly whether or not Darcy's warning about Wickham was one that she should heed.

On the third morning after the return to her normal life, Elizabeth found that she could not altogether repress the sense of expectation that seemed to hang over the day. Darcy had waited three days between her being installed in her parents' home and coming to visit her, so if he had done anything to keep track of her whereabouts via Mr. Bingley's knowledge and if he followed the same pattern, he would visit today.

It was a good day for it, all in all, she had decided upon awakening. It was the weekend and Jane had set aside nearly the whole day to go shopping with Bingley. That Bingley had been the one to have instigated the excursion only made that man seem all the more perfect for Jane. If he had the patience for it, never mind the enthusiasm he seemed to show, then it was one activity that Elizabeth used to share with her sister that she was more than happy to relinquish.

Shopping was, on the whole, not an exercise that she greatly favored and she had never been able to gracefully indulge Jane's penchant for making it an all-day affair when it was usually something that could have been handled in the space of a few hours.

So it was that Elizabeth was quite alone, pulled up to the big window and nestled in her favorite chair with a cup of tea and the latest sheaf of papers from Jane's manuscript in progress, when a knock came at the door.

Her heart gave a wild leap, though she had been more than half expecting the sound for more than an hour now, and she came to her feet, carefully setting aside both her cup and the manuscript. Smoothing her hands over her hair and clothes, Elizabeth made her way to the door and swung it open, her smile of welcome faltering on her lips when the visitor proved not to be Darcy but was instead Caroline Bingley.

"Miss Bingley," Elizabeth greeted her stupidly, staring for a long moment before collecting herself enough to step back and gesture with her free hand into the room behind her. "Do come in. Although if you are here to see your brother or Jane, they are out."

"No, I am here to see you." Caroline was as supercilious as she had ever been as she stepped stiffly into the flat, looking around with an expression that seemed to suggest she was nervous about something.

_Don't worry, dear Caroline_, Elizabeth thought, pasting an insincere smile on her face as she invited the other woman to sit and offered her some tea. _Scarcity isn't catching. _

"No, thank you," Caroline declined both the tea and the offer to be seated. "I haven't got much time, but I wished to stop in and see how you were doing. I trust you are much recovered."

"As you see," Elizabeth replied, though the other woman hardly paused for a reply to her statement.

"Yes, well, such a kerfuffle it was when that man appeared at the door and said there had been an accident," Caroline began, launching into a rather lengthy and convoluted recitation of the night's events.

Elizabeth kept her face neutral as she half-listened to the other woman's monologue, knowing that the actual point of this visit would eventually be revealed. There was certainly no reason for Elizabeth to believe that Caroline cared even a whit about her health, but neither could she immediately determine what scheme might have seemed important enough to Caroline Bingley to bring her to what was clearly the wrong side of town.

Elizabeth couldn't honestly say that she knew Caroline well enough to guess with any sort of accuracy as to what she intended to say but her immediate supposition was that it would be something about Jane and Charles' relationship. Caroline's distaste for all things Bennet had been marked enough at the family dinner she had invaded that it would come as no surprise to Elizabeth to hear that Caroline was opposed to the idea of there being any sort of permanent union between the families.

"And of course it was impossible to sleep with them waking you up every other minute," Caroline exclaimed, jarring Elizabeth out of her thoughts. "But naturally, I am just so pleased that you are well. Tell me, has Mr. Darcy been to visit you?"

_And there it is,_ Elizabeth thought cynically. _She's here to stake some sort of claim on Darcy._

"He hasn't." Elizabeth paused long enough to enjoy the triumphant smirk that Caroline didn't even seem to try to repress before deigning to elucidate further. "At least, not since I got back home from my parents' house."

"Oh," Caroline seemed nonplussed but recovered quickly. "Well, Mr. Darcy is so kind, as you have no doubt witnessed. I daresay he doesn't quite seem to let differences in social rank stand between him and other people the way many people of his station do."

"His station?" Elizabeth echoed. _Was she serious?_ "I didn't realize Darcy was nobility."

"Nobility!" Caroline cried. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course that's not what I meant. I only meant that he is a powerful and wealthy man and you are, of course, a mere employee. Surely you can see the disparity that exists."

"Have you ever held a job, Miss Bingley?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, I have not." The other woman sounded proud of her admission.

"Well, then, I guess you wouldn't know from experience, but employees aren't actually required to treat their employers with reverence. I am grateful for my income, yes, but it doesn't then follow that I must abase myself and grovel at Darcy's feet.

"Besides, I would say that my relationship with Mr. Darcy is on a rather more personal level than it is a professional one. In fact, the night we found ourselves at your house, we were enjoying each others' company, and I can assure you that was not business-related."

The words were out almost without thought, spoken rapidly and in a firm tone that seemed to shock Caroline, who gaped unbecomingly for a moment before visibly collecting herself and sniffing in disdain. "I was just concerned about you, dear Eliza. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea about William and misconstrue his kindness towards subordinates as being something _else_.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I am late for an appointment with, err, my taxidermist."

"Your taxidermist?" Elizabeth couldn't help the incredulous question from popping out of her mouth. "What helpless creature are you having stuffed and mounted?"

"What are you speaking of?" Caroline snapped. "Skin like mine doesn't happen by accident, you know."

And had Caroline been anyone else, or even had she been herself but a more decent and kind version, Elizabeth might have corrected her mistake. As it was, thoroughly irritated at the other woman's officious meddling and sneering condescension, Elizabeth merely smiled and nodded.

"I won't keep you then. Thank you ever so much for all your concern for my well-being."

It seemed the sarcasm was not lost on Miss Bingley for she let out a most unladylike huff and stalked rudely past Elizabeth to the door. "I see I cannot aid you in the manner I had hoped," was her parting shot. "Though now I am convinced you did not deserve my kindly attempt at interference."

Slamming the door behind her, Caroline was gone.

For several long moments, Elizabeth could only gaze in bemusement at the closed portal, replaying the brief visit in her mind. At length, she shook herself and was just moving to regain her place by the window with Jane's manuscript when another knock came at the door.

Pausing, Elizabeth eyed the door speculatively before reluctantly moving to open it. If it had been Caroline standing there again, she was fully prepared to simply tell the other woman to go away.

But it was not Caroline at all. It was Mr. Darcy.

* * *

Darcy approached Elizabeth's flat, feeling a sense of excitement wash over him at the prospect of seeing her. It had been more difficult than he had anticipated, keeping himself from visiting her every day if only to lay eyes on her and ascertain for himself that she continued to improve in health and well-being. But now it had been an appropriate amount of time since he had last visited her and no social strictures could keep him from seeking her out at her own home. He hoped that this visit would have fewer surprises than the last one had, and fewer general annoyances.

So when he caught sight of one of Bingley's carriages parked outside the building, Darcy was disappointed at first. He supposed it wasn't unreasonable that Bingley would choose to spend his free time with the woman he loved, but he couldn't help but think that the presence of Jane and Bingley would put something of a damper on the conversation he hoped to have with Elizabeth.

As though in response to the thought, the door to the building swung forcefully open just then and Darcy froze in surprise at the sight of Caroline Bingley. She walked in a hurried manner, clutching her purse tightly to her chest but fixing her eyes on her carriage in a most determined manner, as though her very life depended on her getting safely from the building to her conveyance.

Breathing a quiet prayer of thanks that she hadn't seen him, Darcy remained where he was until Caroline had entered the coach and it had pulled away from the curb and into the street.

What Miss Bingley might have been about to visit Miss Marchrend and Miss Bennet's flat, Darcy could not begin to guess. Perhaps it was some errand undertaken for Charles, although the likelihood of Caroline performing any service for another person was exceedingly slim.

Dismissing the matter from his mind, Darcy climbed the stairs until he came at last to Elizabeth's door where he rubbed suddenly moist palms nervously over his coat before he knocked gently and then waited the short amount of time it took for his summons to be answered.

Elizabeth's expression was wary as she opened the door but it lightened instantly upon seeing him standing there, a fact which cheered him considerably.

"Thank God you're not Miss Bingley again," she blurted by way of greeting and then flushed slightly. "I'm sorry. That was rather rude of me."

"No more rude than my intentionally _not_ catching her attention when I saw her below," Darcy replied, conspiratorially. "She seemed to be in something of a hurry."

Elizabeth smiled and Darcy felt his breath catch at the sight of it. He had so rarely seen a genuine smile from this woman since he seemed to have a knack for antagonizing her and most of her politeness had been rather understandably frosty as a result. Seeing a warm, delighted smile on her lips only strengthened his resolve that he should do everything in his power to be the man who made her smile in precisely that fashion for every day of the rest of their lives.

"She had a very important appointment to get to," Elizabeth replied, and there seemed to be a secret dancing in her lovely eyes. "But please, come in! Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"Coffee sounds very nice, if it isn't too much trouble," Darcy replied, stepping fully into the flat and pushing the door closed behind him.

"No trouble at all," Elizabeth assured him. "I was just about to make myself a cup."

On the words, she disappeared through an open doorway into what Darcy assumed was the kitchen. He followed slowly, leaning against the wall as he watched her deftly move about the small space, setting a kettle on the stovetop and opening a cabinet to retrieve a pair of smooth, blue mugs.

"How do you take your coffee?" she inquired, looking at him over her shoulder as she rummaged through another cabinet.

"Black," he replied simply. "Only a small amount of sugar, or none at all."

She nodded as though she had somehow expected him to answer precisely as he had and he watched her for a moment longer before offering to help.

"I've got it," Elizabeth waved the offer away, coming at last to a stop and leaning her hip against the counter next to the stove. "Just waiting for the water to boil now. We could sit. Here or in the living room."

"If you like," Darcy replied affably. "How's the head?"

She flashed another smile at him as she pushed off from the counter and moved to the small kitchen table where she pulled out a chair but did not immediately sit. "Much better. I am headache-free. If the bruising would go away, I'd be quite able to go out in public and not run the risk of frightening small children."

Darcy had drifted towards the table as she spoke and came to stop near enough to her that he was quite easily able to give into the impulse to reach out a hand and gently brush her hair back from her temple. All signs of swelling were gone and the riot of ugly colors had faded into more subdued shades of yellow and purple.

She shivered under his touch and Darcy pulled his hand back swiftly, apologizing briefly for taking the liberty. "But you are looking much recovered, I think," he added, smiling down on her. "I am certain you could not scare even the most fearful child if you tried."

Elizabeth looked away, though that might have only been to cast a glance at the kettle on the stove. When it showed no signs of boiling, she took the chair she had pulled out, looking expectantly at Darcy as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her.

"Jane and Mr. Bingley are out shopping," she informed him, seeming to speak at random just to have something to fill the short silence between them. "I feel sorry for poor Mr. Bingley. I wonder if he knew what he was getting himself into. Jane can shop for hours and never get tired of it."

"They may be well matched in that regard," Darcy replied, hiding his own pleasure at the knowledge that he might have more time alone with Elizabeth than he had thought possible. "Charles can browse displays for hours, it seems, and never grow weary of looking. With the holidays so close upon us, I imagine he'll need even more time than usual in order to finish buying all his gifts."

"You say that with a certain amount of satisfaction," she teased. "Could it be that you have already finished making your own purchases?"

He smiled back at her, pleased with the light friendliness of their conversation and with the way it seemed she could understand him so well. "In fact, I have finished. I go tomorrow to pick up one final item for Georgiana, my sister, but everything else is finalized."

_Including_, he added mentally, _a gift for you, my lovely Elizabeth_. That he would not soon be able to gift her with the ring he had purchased was of little consequence. At least it seemed he was finally on the right path with her and then he would have an entire lifetime of opportunity to spoil and indulge her as he wanted.

With some effort, he brought his mind away from the happy visions such a thought inspired to attend to what Elizabeth was saying to him now. "I had thought I was finished, but I feel that perhaps I should get something for Mr. Bingley," she was musing. "But I haven't any idea what to get and Jane is no help. I was thinking something useful, like a scarf."

"I believe I may safely assure you that you could get Charles anything and he would be most grateful, even under normal circumstances."

Elizabeth arched a brow at him. "But these present circumstances are somehow not normal? I don't understand your meaning."

Darcy chuckled. "I believe my friend is still a bit wary of you, thinking he hasn't got your blessing where his relationship with your sister is concerned. Any friendly gesture would go a long way towards assuring him that you welcome the match."

Elizabeth seemed surprised by this revelation and opened her mouth to speak but was forestalled by the kettle beginning to whistle out its alarm of being done. Rising gracefully from the table, she moved across the kitchen to snatch the kettle from the flames of the gas burner and pour the hot water over the coffee grounds she had prepared earlier in the glass press.

They were silent as she finished making the coffee, she seeming to somehow know instinctively that he really did prefer just a little sugar in his beverage and she handed him his mug with a raised brow.

"Shall we take this to the other room? The furniture is far more comfortable."

Nodding his assent, he rose and pushed his chair back into place at the table before following her back into the living room. She seemed to have already claimed her seat, so he settled into the one opposite, smiling at the memory of the last armchair he had taken in her presence and how mortified he had been in that moment.

"I wasn't aware Mr. Bingley cared so much for my good opinion," Elizabeth admitted, resuming their prior conversation once they were both settled. "Or that he had any notion that he didn't have it."

"Well," Darcy coughed, wondering whether his friend would be upset at the disclosure he was about to make, should he ever hear of it, "he said something to me once about how expressive your eyes were. I believe that when he came to make amends to Jane he felt very put on his guard."

To his surprise, Elizabeth gave a mellifluous laugh. "Good. I admit I was terribly upset with him then. Well, and with you, as you know. I can be quite protective of the ones I love."

"And there we have something in common," Darcy returned, seeing an opportunity. "For I am much the same. Although, unlike you, I think I more often come off as high-handed or foolish, rather than fierce."

She gave him a considering look. "High-handed? Perhaps. But foolish? I cannot credit it."

"There have been times," he assured her, voice dry. He was thinking of that night he had risen from his sickbed and had gone searching through the night for her, unable to rest until he knew she was safe. How foolish he must have appeared to her then.

And how high-handed he must have appeared any number of other times. Not for the first time, it occurred to Darcy that he might be able to go about this business of courting Elizabeth much more easily if he simply told her of his Second Sight. He had, in fact, been thinking much on the possibility as of late, but there was still something holding him back from taking the final plunge.

Gathering his courage all at once, Darcy leaned forward, holding her dark, dancing eyes with his own steady gaze.

"I hope you will not think me foolish now, in fact, but Elizabeth -" he watched closely as he used her Christian name, relieved when she didn't so much as bat an eyelash but instead kept an open, expectant expression on her face "- I have been waiting for some time for a good opportunity to ask you this and, well..." Darcy fumbled awkwardly for a moment. "That is, would you do me the very great honor of accompanying me out for an evening some time?"

Though he himself felt surprisingly shaky, Darcy did his best to hold her gaze without wavering.

She blinked, but did not immediately answer.

Darcy had just enough time to wonder whether he had misread her whole demeanour, decide that he had and curse himself for an idiot before Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak.

"You want to go out with me?" Her voice seemed almost full of wonder.

Nodding once, firmly, Darcy replied, "Very much."

Her smile started slow but soon bloomed into a wide, genuine grin. "I would enjoy that," she acquiesced. "Very much."

Feeling as though he had just run some great race and had somehow managed to cross the finish line first, Darcy sat back with a smile of his own. She had agreed! It was the true beginning of his chance to woo her properly.

Although, never one to waste a perfectly good opportunity and very mindful of the fact that he could conceivably spend the better part of the day with Elizabeth now, Darcy quickly settled the details of their forthcoming rendezvous before abandoning himself to what would prove to be nearly three hours of friendly conversation before he could at last persuade himself to leave.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry! Sorry! I know it's been a long while since I last posted. Mea culpa and all that jazz.

The word challenge was fun on this chapter and I was able to get most of the suggestions worked in pretty easily. Or, at least, **a** suggestion from most people (some of y'all had multiple words and I learned at least one new word as a result of this exercise which is always a fun thing).

We shall see if I can't figure a way to get 'penultimate' and 'recidivism' worked in before the end of this here story, hmm? In the meantime, *clap* *clap* *clap* to the offerers of those words. I couldn't do it gracefully. Not this time.

Speaking of the end of the story, we are getting close. Depending on how well my characters behave (which tends to be not very), I'd say we have only 3 or 4 more to go, and then possibly an alternate ending (I'm fighting with my beta over this matter) and maaaaybe an epilogue. I'm excited and sad all at once, but I think it'll be good to hopefully put this thing to bed sometime before I die.

How do you feel about endings? As always, I love hearing your thoughts.


	25. Chapter 25

Elizabeth told herself that she was being rather silly to be so nervous as she prepared herself for Darcy's imminent arrival. It was the night of their date, an evening that she had anticipated for an entire week, ever since the day that Darcy had first asked her.

Working nights had several drawbacks and this seemed to be the worst of all of them; it was difficult to maintain a social life when most people were ending their work days around the same time that she was beginning hers.

Casting her mind back over the last time she and Darcy had talked, Elizabeth couldn't help but smile in recollection. She would never have imagined that they could speak so easily or for such a long period of time. There hadn't been even the slightest hint of tension between them, with the most dangerous part of the conversation having been when Darcy noticed Jane's manuscript and asked what it was.

She had answered him honestly, suspecting that he probably knew of Jane's ambitions, if not of her whole backstory in writing. Not for the first time, Elizabeth had wondered whether her older sister had told Bingley of her secret and when she might. It was, after all, not a bad secret to keep since it harmed no one for being repressed. Yet, at which point did a person reveal something so personal to another human being? At which point was there enough trust?

Letting the question go again, Elizabeth patted a few more stray hairs into place and then paused to take a deep breath, considering her own reflection.

"Jane," she called, knowing the other woman was waiting just in the other room and nearly as nervously excited for the evening as Elizabeth herself was.

"Yes?" Jane was there in a moment, smiling broadly. "Oh, Lizzie, you look wonderful."

"Do I really?" Elizabeth darted an anxious glance at Jane's face. "You're not just saying that because you always say nice things about everyone?"

"Lizzie!" Jane scolded, but she was smiling in the impish way that suggested she was in a teasing mood. "Who knew you could be so vain? Or contrary for that matter? Whatever happened to hating Mr. Darcy until the day you died? How have you gone from that to actually caring what he thinks of the way you look?"

"Jane," Elizabeth groaned. "How many times are you going to make me say it? I seem to have been wrong - very wrong - about him."

"Don't worry, Dearest." Jane smiled sweetly. "I'll only make you say it one or two dozen more times. It is so rare that you're willing to admit to such a flaw."

Though she knew Jane would never tease her in a malicious manner, the comment stung more than Elizabeth cared to admit. Was it possible that there was some truth in what Jane was saying? Was it really so rare for Elizabeth to reverse her opinions? Was she often guilty of stubbornly clinging to first impressions, refusing to believe that she might not fully understand the motivations and thoughts of people she did not really know?

The thoughts unsettled her and now was not the ideal time to be considering them in any case, so Elizabeth pushed them savagely out of the front of her mind, choosing instead to focus on brushing invisible lint off the shoulders of her dress.

It was actually Jane's dress and was longer on Elizabeth than it was on Jane, but the dark blue fabric suited her complexion perfectly and the severe lines were somehow flattering when contrasted with her body's natural curves. A pair of smart heels and a silver necklace completed the simple outfit.

Not catching onto Elizabeth's sudden disquiet, Jane put her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders and met her gaze in the mirror. "Truly, Lizzie, you look wonderful. And I suspect you could wear a flour sack and Mr. Darcy wouldn't much mind."

Elizabeth laughed weakly. "Perhaps. But I suspect the other patrons at the restaurant might."

"Well, as you aren't wearing a flour sack and as you surely don't care about the opinions of other diners, I think you'll be fine," Jane pointed out reasonably.

"Are you ever going to tell Mr. Bingley that you're J.M. Richardson?" Elizabeth blurted. She needed to get her mind off both her appearance and this ridiculous nervousness that was causing her stomach to seem to flutter in a nervous manner.

Jane's blue eyes widened briefly in surprise at the question, but she answered readily enough. "Of course I'll tell him."

"But when?"

"Any day now, if the conversation ever seems to demand it. I think he will propose soon, Lizzie. And you know I don't like to speculate about what other people may or may not do, but I just have a feeling that he will."

The gambit to distract herself was working, Elizabeth thought. She was genuinely interested in her sister's answer as she asked the next question. "And what do you think he'll say when you tell him?"

It was Jane's turn to laugh a little weakly. "Truly? I think he'll say something about how he always knew I had the ability in me and that we should celebrate all my past and future success right then and there."

Elizabeth sighed, a little enviously, but drew her sister into an embrace. "I am glad for you, Janey."

As she spoke the words, the knock that she had been both anticipating and slightly dreading at last sounded at their front door. Pulling apart, the two sisters examined each other briefly before Elizabeth took a final deep breath and went to answer. By earlier design, Jane hung back, having said she would do so in order to allow the pair to get on their way without needing to pause for polite conversation.

Pulling the door open, Elizabeth found herself catching her breath at the sight of Darcy. His suit was a severe black, immaculately clean and perfectly fitted to his tall frame. But all that was secondary to the warm smile he was giving her, his dark eyes seeming somehow to convey a mixture of emotions too disparate and too heady to name.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth conjured up a smile, feeling somehow more settled now that he had actually come and appeared to be happy to see her. "It is good to see you again."

His eyes moved over her once, slowly, before he spoke. From another man, it might have seemed lecherous, but with Darcy it somehow felt more as though he had appraised her and found her more than satisfactory. "Elizabeth, you look lovely," he said simply, deep voice edged with unmistakable sincerity.

He stepped half a pace back from the door and crooked his arm invitingly. "Shall we? I've made reservations at a place I think you will very much enjoy."

Smiling faintly, Elizabeth accepted his escort and followed him into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. But even as he led her to down to his waiting automobile and saw her safely installed into the passenger area before joining her and signaling to Fitch that they were ready to depart, she could not keep a feeling of disquiet from nibbling at the edges of her mind.

Darcy had yet to invite her to call him by his given name and, honestly, until Caroline Bingley had uttered it a week before, Elizabeth had scarcely remembered what it even was, though it had been published in the paper more than once. Still, the fact that she allowed him to drop formal propriety and that he did not return the gesture gave her a sense of unease, as though he were holding her at a greater distance than she was now holding him.

The thought that Miss Bingley might have been right about Darcy simply being kind and willing to look past differences in social standing only up to a point gnawed at her, a painful cancerous notion that seemed to grow in size along with her own insecurities.

As had been the case more than once in the past several minutes, Elizabeth pushed the thoughts firmly away, telling herself that she was being overly sensitive and that to allow Caroline's words any power over her thoughts was to allow the other woman to have accomplished her aims.

"I daresay a week has never seemed to be so long to me before," Darcy commented once they were underway. He was still smiling, though this time it seemed to be in mild self-deprecation. "But then I so rarely anticipate that social meetings may be pleasant; I am entirely unaccustomed to seeing the wait in any light other than that of a blessing."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh in response, having the feeling that he was being purposefully comical, albeit in a rather dry way. "Oh yes," she agreed lightly. "I confess I so often dread having to be thrown in company with the likes of personages such as Mr. Bingley that I would much rather spend my days in company with the likes of Mr. Collins."

Darcy's smile became a true grin in the face of her teasing and he inquired, "Ah, but that is Mr. Bingley. I can understand why you would not like him, he being prone to ignore anyone but his 'angel.' But what of my company? Have I not always given you a greater share of attention than he would do?"

"Not always," Elizabeth answered truthfully. "But I find that sometimes when I feel I have been denied my share of attention, I am always repaid later in full measure for the lack I thought I had."

"How so?"

"You have only to look to yourself, Mr. Darcy. On our first outing together, I believe we scarcely spoke to each other and were forced instead to rely on my sister and your friend for our entertainment. But now how far we have come. I do believe that I have had many more conversations with you alone than I have with any other man, save my father."

"What?" Darcy pretended to be astonished. "Not even the estimable Mr. Collins can claim such an accomplishment?"

Giving a shudder that wasn't entirely fabricated, Elizabeth couldn't help but think that if this were flirting, she rather liked it.

* * *

They enjoyed easy banter for the rest of the drive to the restaurant. Fitch had stopped the car and come around to open the door before Elizabeth even realized they had arrived.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, craning her neck to peer up at the outside wall of the building. "I didn't even ask where we were going!"

She accepted Fitch's assistance out of the automobile, and found that she could only look on in delight as she realized where Darcy had brought her.

Feeling his presence behind her, Elizabeth turned to look at him as she asked, "How did you know I've always want to try this place?"

"Well," Darcy admitted, actually looking a bit sheepish, "I may have done a little reconnaissance."

"Good heavens," Elizabeth feigned shock. "Spying on a lady? No doubt you found it needful to question my relatives."

"Only the one," Darcy assured her. "Miss Marchrend was very easy to crack."

"Poor Jane," Elizabeth laughed, allowing him to once more claim her arm and escort her into the restaurant.

It was called Gardiner's and was equally famous both for its excellent menu and for its atmosphere. Elizabeth had become enamored of it from the first time she had passed it on the street, for it was built to resemble a gracious manor house, with even the grounds being maintained to that same level of perfection.

A warm-colored stone had been used on its exterior, contrasting beautifully in the summertime with the lush climbing vines and flowers that twined their way over the romantic garden arches that flanked the pathway leading up to the main door. The foliage was all dried up in the winter months, but the lack had been addressed with cunningly placed aldetric lights which seemed almost to twinkle in the dimness of the evening, as though they were some sort of sprites that had taken up residence among the artfully woven metal arch.

As Elizabeth had hoped, the interior of the place was no less beautiful, having been designed and furnished in such a way that everything flowed naturally and gave off an inviting, almost homey, sensation.

The place seemed to engender intimacy, as well. As Elizabeth and Darcy followed the urbane maître d' to their table, she could hear the quiet murmurs of conversation from other diners, but high seat-backs, cozy nooks and an astonishing variety of leafy plants all served to practically hide each table from view.

"Will this suit?" the maître d' inquired, gesturing to a table that would be entirely hidden from anyone who wasn't heading directly for it. It was tucked away in what had to be a corner of the dining area, around a corner of its own from the interior walkways and featured a large window that overlooked some of the outside grounds.

When Darcy didn't immediately reply, Elizabeth looked to him in some confusion, finding that he was regarding her with an expectant gaze.

"This seems wonderful," she told both men, smiling as broadly as she felt was polite.

The maître d' nodded in acceptance, and departed with a final remark about how their server would be by shortly to get them started.

Feeling almost a little dazed, Elizabeth allowed Darcy to assist her into her seat, and once she had settled, allowed herself to look out the window at a little more length, discerning that their view was of an inner atrium and there were covered tables scattered over the patio, presumably for outside dining in nicer weather. At the center of the courtyard stood an ornate fountain, empty now, but caked here and there with remains of the last snowfall.

"This is wonderful," Elizabeth enthused, keeping her voice pitched low. "I never dreamed I would be able to actually dine here."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cringed inwardly, thinking how gauche and naïve she must seem to the sophisticated and wealthy man across from her. But he only smiled at her words, seeming utterly sincere as he expressed how happy he was that he could be the person to engineer the fulfillment of her wish.

In that moment, Elizabeth thought that she could truly relinquish the words that Caroline Bingley had planted like poison in her mind. Whatever faults, real or imagined, that Darcy might possess, acute snobbery didn't seem to be one of them. He had, in fact, been almost unfailing in his treatment of her and Jane as being equal to him in terms of core human value. He did not make them to feel as though they were in any way inferior, despite the disparity of their relative stations in society or despite their gender.

Caroline Bingley was merely a jealous woman, who saw Darcy's kindness to Elizabeth as a threat to her own designs on him. Perhaps, in that, Caroline had been more perceptive than Elizabeth had allowed herself to be. Until the moment he had asked her out for this evening, Elizabeth had convinced herself that he was only attempting to be more friendly with her. Now, it seemed, she must accept it was probable that he was be interested in _more_.

Conversation subsided between them as they were taken up with the usual tasks of dining, ordering drinks and taking the time to peruse the offerings listed in the menu. Their server came and left so unobtrusively that by the time they had been brought a bottle of wine and an appetizer of stuffed mushrooms, Darcy and Elizabeth had fallen into an easy conversation, the content of which kept straying from new topic to new topic.

So when Darcy began to nudge the conversation in a new direction as they enjoyed a dark chocolate and raspberry confection that the waiter had recommended for dessert, Elizabeth was only curious at what he might be trying to get around to, never suspecting what a disaster his conversational gambit would be or how it would end on an extremely bitter note what had otherwise been a remarkably perfect evening.

* * *

He had started out innocuously enough. They had been speaking of dreams. Not the sort of dreams one had while sleeping, but rather the hopes and visions one had for their own life. It was personal territory and something of a tender subject for Elizabeth, her mind having lately been filled with doubts about the path she found her life on.

She enjoyed her job at Blue Line much more than she would ever have imagined, but in the comparisons she made of her own life against people like Bingley, Darcy and even Jane, Elizabeth couldn't help but think that her life lacked a certain something in the way of direction. Jane had known for years that she wanted to write and be published under her own name and that dream was taking shaping in the form of the manuscript at which she was laboring away.

But Elizabeth's dreams had never been so clearly defined as all of that.

"Did you always want to do what you're doing now?" she asked Darcy, truly curious about what passions drove him. He obviously had a genius for business and was successful at every venture he turned his hand to, but was it his choice to be on that path? She knew enough from things Bingley and Jane had said to know that Bingley had more inherited his position and that a life in the publishing empire his father had left to him was more a thing that had been pressed upon him rather than anything he had actually ever dreamed of going after. Still, he seemed content enough with his situation, though Elizabeth had privately wondered whether he might somehow contrive to be even happier if he were pursuing something he had chosen for himself.

"I'm not sure any desire on my part ever entered into it," Darcy admitted, a small smile playing at his lips. "To a certain extent, there was only ever expectation that I would, and I then did my best to live up to that expectation."

"Was it your father who expected you to follow in his footsteps?" Elizabeth asked, taking a careful bite of her decadent dessert.

"He was a part of it, as was my mother and nearly every other adult who had influence over me growing up. Aunts and uncles, grandparents. There was never any real question that I would take over someday. But what everyone else expected was really only secondary to the... internal pressure to live my life in a certain manner."

She raised a brow, a little surprised at the answer and the almost hesitant manner in which Darcy said the last sentence, as though he might be revealing something too personal. "Are you saying you were your own strongest encouragement to do what you have done? And if so, doesn't it then follow that you must have had some desire to take the actions that you have?"

Across from her, Darcy took a deep breath and looked off to the side as though collecting his thoughts before replying.

"Have you ever had a dream about doing something," he inquired, "and then at some point in your life, you find yourself actually doing that exact thing under the exact same circumstances that you dreamed?"

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment but had to shake her head in the negative. "No. But I have sometimes been doing something completely unextraordinary and had a sudden feeling that not only have I been in that exact moment before but that I could also somehow know what was about to happen next. Sometimes I've even been correct in my predictions." She shrugged lightly and smiled. "But I think everyone experiences _déjà vu_ at some point or another in their lives."

"What I am talking about is similar to that," Darcy replied, leaning forward, eyes suddenly intense. "But throughout my entire life, I have often experienced something like _déjà vu _but to a far greater degree."

Now Elizabeth felt only puzzlement, trying to work out what Darcy was trying to tell her and wondering how a sense of _déjà vu_ might possibly relate to the conversation they'd been having about expectations and life dreams.

"I don't understand," she admitted, unsettled by the strange turn the conversation had taken. "Are you saying you had dreams as a child about growing up to take over your father's work and so feel that you had no other options open to you?"

"No," Darcy's voice was low, his tone troubled. "I am saying that for my whole life I've had visions of my own future and they have always been completely true."

His eyes held her own, his gaze completely steady and guileless, although something in his look seemed to be begging her to understand or to accept his words.

Despite this unspoken plea, Elizabeth felt a spike of skepticism shoot through her, though she attempted to hide it. "So, what," she began. "You're saying that you'll have a dream that you're at work and making some important business deal and then the next day you wake up and go to work to finalize that exact deal?"

"It's not often like that, but it can be. I'm more often fully awake when I experience these visions and there's usually not a complete sequence of events."

Her face must be betraying her disbelief for Darcy sighed and again turned that pleading gaze on her as he continued speaking, seeming to pour every ounce of sincerity into his tone that he might. "Perhaps you'll know that almost no one was willing to invest in the automobile industry at its outset.

"On paper, though interesting, it simply didn't appear that anyone might ever be able to turn a profit on such a venture. There were many people who were opposed to the idea when I said I was going to invest, but I had _Seen_ that the investment would be a good one and so I went ahead. It's how I made my name as a businessman on my own merits, rather than being known simply as my father's heir."

He appeared to truly believe everything he was telling her and Elizabeth sat blankly for a moment, not wishing to hurt his feelings or to call him a liar, but unable to fully credit what he was saying. It sounded impossible. _Insane_. Yet, the earnestness of Darcy's words and the openness of his countenance seemed almost to argue for his sanity. He didn't appear to be manic in any way.

_Maybe that only means he really _is_ insane, if he believes what he is saying. It cannot be possible. _

The thought was there before she could stop it, but Elizabeth felt the force of it.

"Why are you telling me this?" Elizabeth demanded bluntly, unable to keep from asking the question.

Now he appeared less resolved on pursuing the conversation, but he swallowed once and answered steadily.

"Because it involves you to a certain degree."

"Me?" Of anything he might have said, she hadn't been expecting that. "How so?"

"The first time I met you, I had a vision." The words came softly but deliberately. "It was the substance of that vision that led me to the decision to terminate your employment. I know how that sounds," he added in a rush, seeing her mouth drop open in shock. "If you'll only let me explain-"

"No." The word was spoken in a low, savage voice that Elizabeth didn't immediately recognize as being her own. The abruptness of it gave instant pause to Darcy's words though and he closed his own mouth, eyeing her somewhat warily.

"There is nothing you could possibly say to explain yourself to me that I have any interest in hearing," she informed him in icy tones. "It was bad enough that you could dismiss me with so little regard for my general well-being as a fellow human being, but to have you then worm your way into my life only to feed me a pack of lies is insupportable!"

Her voice had started out as a low hiss but had steadily increased in volume as she spoke so that the last came out nearly as a shout. With some effort, she reined in her temper enough to modulate her volume down to a more appropriate level for the public setting. When she felt she had mastered herself well enough to speak again though, she continued in a steady voice.

"When you said that you had an excellent reason for letting me go, I made a choice to believe you, though it went against my better judgement. I trusted that you were capable of kindness and decency and concern for others because I thought I had seen evidence of it elsewhere in your life."

She allowed her eyes to sweep over him with all the disdain she felt. "But now I can only think I was a fool to believe in you at all."

Darcy winced. She had been watching him closely, wondering whether any emotion might show out of the emotionless mask he had adopted at the beginning of her speech. Aside from that one gesture, he made no other response whether by word or action.

Sighing heavily, she pushed the small plate that held the remains of her dessert away from her and gained her feet. "I want to go home now."

For a long moment, Darcy made no move and Elizabeth wondered if he would refuse her wishes until he had finished spinning whatever the rest of his outrageous tale might be. But then he sighed as well, stood and carelessly threw several large bills onto the table to pay for the meal although they had not yet been issued their check.

Pulling on her coat without assistance, Elizabeth led the way out of the restaurant, feeling Darcy's presence behind her like some grave and silent shadow.

As they approached his automobile in silence, Elizabeth had an unexpectedly clear view of Fitch, who was sitting in his driver's seat and had every appearance of enjoying a meal of his own, though his was served out of a small box with the name Gardiner's printed across it.

Darcy must have seen to his employee getting a warm meal, though she had no idea how or when he might have arranged it. The thought softened her anger somewhat but could not alleviate the fact that now seemed inevitable: although capable of being a good and decent man, Darcy would not ever be good or decent enough to have only honesty between them. His wild stories tonight had proved that much.

Wondering why he had even bothered since she had not pressed him anew on the subject, Elizabeth climbed into the back of the automobile and observed in dull silence as Darcy closed the door behind her before going to to the front of the conveyance to speak briefly with Fitch.

As the automobile pulled away from the restaurant without Darcy, leaving him standing alone and silent in the coldness of the night, Elizabeth wondered at why she should suddenly feel so hollow.

* * *

**A/N:** I'll keep this short. I apologize, as usual, for the long delay. It's been a very eventful and personally difficult couple of months. And I am better at _having_ fights than I am at _writing_ them. Ugh.

Anyhow, trust me. We're getting on towards happy. But how would you react if someone told you they had true visions of their future? I wouldn't believe it and I'm the sort of person who still thinks I might someday open up a wardrobe and find my way into Narnia.

Thanks for the continued patience and kind words! You're all tremendously encouraging!


	26. Chapter 26

In the wake of Elizabeth's departure, Darcy found himself experiencing a diverse and confusing array of emotions. First and foremost was the hurt. Even though he could logically understand and even excuse Elizabeth's disbelief of what he had told her, it still stung more than he cared to admit that she hadn't believed him.

Her belief in him had been the linchpin of his whole plan, the one thing he'd had to convince himself of as he'd worked up the nerve to tell her of his Sight. It hadn't been an easy internal debate, carried out over the course of several weeks as Darcy had ultimately persuaded himself that she would _have_ to believe him, otherwise they could never have a shared future. He had at last felt the logic was sound: If they were to be wed, she would have to know. If she knew, she would have to believe him. If she believed him, he could at last tell her everything.

She hadn't given him even half a chance and there was a part of Darcy that couldn't blame her for it. But the greater part of him didn't want to try to be understanding of her reaction, no matter how easy it was to comprehend it. No, the bigger part of him wanted to rage at Elizabeth, to say she was cruel or cynical or stupid.

It was the third emotion swirling within his mind that kept him from raging and that emotion was not anything tender such as love or devotion. It was not even optimism that everything would eventually turn out for the best. Quite to the contrary, the third emotion he felt was a crushing, suffocating sense of defeat.

Had his Sight at last failed him? Had those visions of a happy marriage and a rich life been a figment of his imagination? Elizabeth was certainly beautiful enough to inspire such thoughts and it was damned certain that nothing between the two of them had ever run smooth.

Such dark thoughts dogged Darcy over the days and weeks following their disastrous date. If he was not careful, his bleak mood was capable of consuming him completely. He attempted to behave normally with his sister and Bingley, but found the effort too taxing and soon took to avoiding them as much as possible. Bingley, who had a finger on the pulse of the situation thanks to his relationship to Miss Marchrend knew of the reason for Darcy's melancholy, or thought he did, and wisely allowed Darcy his space.

On more than one occasion, Darcy found himself cynically musing on what Bingley's reaction would be if he knew exactly why things had not worked out between Darcy and Elizabeth. Would Bingley have had the same horrified reaction Elizabeth had, thinking Darcy was at best a lunatic and at worst a pathological liar?

Georgiana did not say anything directly and did not pry, but her gaze was always filled with concern and she wore a perpetual slight frown when she regarded her elder brother. Her efforts to coax smiles or at least something other than a scowl out of him were gentle and ultimately ineffectual.

So she did what she always did when he proved to be too much a burden for her to handle on her own. Three weeks after the holiday had passed and four weeks after Darcy had fallen into his emotional malaise, Georgiana called in reinforcements in the guise of one Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, their cousin and the only person in the world that Darcy trusted with what few secrets he shared.

As was his habit (because Darcy had once decreed it to be annoying), Fitzwilliam showed up one evening just before dinner, not having bothered to inform anyone in the household of his impending arrival. He easily wrangled a not-altogether-sincere invitation from Darcy to join them for dinner, promptly accepted and was soon seated at the smaller dining table that usually served for family dinners.

The Colonel divided his time between chattering amiably away with Georgiana about how her studies were progressing and telling colorful stories of life in the Army and various mishaps that had happened at his last posting abroad.

Darcy listened with only half an ear, not interested in the stories for their own sake but feeling it his duty to attend at least far enough that he could stop his cousin if Richard got it into his head to tell some ribald joke or share some gory story that would be unfit for Georgiana's ears.

When dinner had ended, Georgiana excused herself with some briskness, citing a mountain of reading to get through. Darcy bade her a good night, knowing from previous exposure that his sister was not prone to exaggeration and would doubtless be kept busy with schoolwork right up to the point when she would choose to go to bed and he would not see her again this night.

As of late, on a normal evening, Darcy would take his sister's departure as his cue to repair to his study to work. In all reality, he accomplished little these days, having not the heart for paperwork or productivity. Most nights found him staring sightlessly into the fire, a glass of brandy or whiskey forgotten in one hand, miserable over Elizabeth but without the slightest idea of what he ought to do about it.

Another grudging invitation was extended to Fitzwilliam, this time for an after-dinner brandy in Darcy's study. Despite the obvious unwillingness Darcy displayed to actually sit and be social, Fitzwilliam once again accepted with alacrity.

There was silence between the two men as they made their way into the room and poured their drinks before settling into the comfortable chairs pulled up to the hearth. But as though their being seated were some sort of signal that Fitzwilliam had been waiting for, they had no sooner touched backside to chair before he cleared his throat and asked in his usual blunt fashion, "Just what the devil has gotten into you, Darce?"

Swallowing an audible sigh, Darcy turned his most imperious look on his cousin despite knowing that it would have absolutely no effect on the other man. "Nothing has gotten into me," he said in a voice to match his facial expression.

The Colonel snorted loudly. "Something must have done or you would never have let me get away with telling Georgie the story about the time I caught you kissing my sister."

Darcy sat forward so suddenly that his whiskey was in very real danger of sloshing all over the fine rug. "You told her _what_? When? I never kissed your sister!"

Fitzwilliam chuckled, waving a negligent hand in dismissal of Darcy's outrage. "Relax, Darce," he advised. "I said nothing of the sort, but the fact that you thought I might've tells me that you were as distant as you looked over dinner.

"So then. Georgie is worried about you. Says you've been lost in your head for a month now. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

Darcy glared over at his cousin for several long moments before finally shaking his head and allowing his shoulders to slump. "I don't know why I bother trying to keep my private life private. Between you and Georgiana always meddling, I'm never given any peace."

"Oh yes," Fitzwilliam agreed, his voice a sarcastic drawl. "No peace and quiet for poor, wittle Darcy-Darce. Georgie only gave you a month to mope around feeling poorly for yourself." He punctuated the observation with a light kick at Darcy's ankle. "You know I'm not going to leave until you confess and I've had the chance to properly mock you for whatever silly thing it is this time. You might as well save yourself the time and the fine brandy." He raised his glass, took a sip in illustration and then quirked up an eyebrow.

"Well?"

Darcy felt the back of his neck flame red. Fitzwilliam wasn't entirely joking about the mockery and surely his dashing and frequently romantically involved cousin would find Darcy's situation to be hilarious.

"Does it ever occur to you that perhaps I could do without you poking fun at me?" Darcy tried to dodge having to spill his guts to his cousin while also trying not to appear to be incalcitrant. The more reserved he tried to be, the more Fitzwilliam would take it upon himself to wheedle information out of him.

"Please," Fitzwilliam scoffed. "What you typically require is for someone to come along and give you some perspective. You spend so much time in your own head going over the same problem that pretty soon that problem is the only thing you can see. It isn't my fault that you wait until you've finished blowing everything all out of proportion to finally admit to whatever's been eating at you."

When Darcy still hesitated, Fitzwilliam set his glass to the side and leaned forward, his normally lively blue eyes now intense. "I urge you again to save yourself a little time and just tell me what the trouble is. Whatever it is, we can sort it out. We always do."

Laughing bitterly, Darcy tossed back a decent slug of his own whiskey before closing his eyes and answering. "No. I fear that this time there is nothing anyone can do. But who am I to deny you your joy in laughing at my problems? I am in love with a woman who hates me."

Braced for derisive laughter, Darcy frowned suspiciously when his admission elicited nothing more than a profound silence. Cracking an eyelid, he examined his cousin, finding Fitzwilliam wearing a bemused expression but clearly having no idea of anything to say in response.

"Well, say something," Darcy groused, aiming a kick at Fitzwilliam's shins in irritated repayment of the earlier blow his ankle had endured.

Fitzwilliam shook his head slowly. "I admit I have no idea what to say, Darce. I had no idea you were even seeing anyone. Georgiana has mentioned nothing of it to me."

"That is because she scarcely has any idea of it herself. And I haven't exactly been seeing this woman in the, er, traditional sense."

The various interpretations of that sentence struck Darcy as being particularly funny, but even Fitzwilliam knew nothing of Darcy's Sight, so he kept any smirks about it to himself.

The thought was sobering, not that he had been feeling anything too close to levity. There was no way to tell Fitzwilliam anything about Elizabeth without also disclosing information regarding his strange curse or gift or whatever he wished to call it.

Even as he processed that, Darcy felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. How long was he willing to go on living his life in the way that he had been? When his Sight had served only to help him make good business decisions or to keep Georgiana from harm, it had never seemed needful to mention it to anyone. For the former, he might simply be well educated or lucky or both. For the latter, if breaking his silence would have been the key to saving his sister from Wickham's depredations, he would have done so without a thought. As it was, the information had never seemed relevant before and Darcy had simply grown so accustomed to treating it like some dangerous secret that perhaps he had, once again, blown everything all out of proportion.

After all, other than the possibility that whomever he told wouldn't believe him, what was the harm of anyone else knowing? He was breaking no laws, harming no other people, there was nothing morally reprehensible about his Sight. It just _was_. Inexplicable and so heavy, crushing him however slowly under all the ponderous weight of secrecy.

For just a moment, Darcy was tempted beyond all words to throw caution to the wind, to tell all to Fitzwilliam, to lay out the whole dysmorphic tale of his doomed relationship with Elizabeth Bennet and to see what his cousin might say in response.

But then he thought of how the information had gone over with Elizabeth and Darcy's desire to tell his cousin anything about his Sight flamed out and died.

"So, who is this woman?" Fitzwilliam asked, having obviously paused to see whether Darcy would be forthcoming with any further details of his own accord. "How did you meet? And why do you think she hates you?"

Darcy would have liked to dodge the question or to tell Fitzwilliam to go away, but knew that both options were ultimately fruitless. Resolving to take his cousin's advice and save himself some time, Darcy heaved a sigh and answered dully, "Her name is Elizabeth Bennet. She's the sister of Charles Bingley's Miss Marchrend. We met upon the occasion of my firing her from the secretarial position at my offices and that, I think, adequately explains why she hates me."

Somewhat predictably, Colonel Fitzwilliam responded to Darcy's confessions with a roar of laughter.

Still slumped in his chair, Darcy eyed the other man with disfavor as Fitzwilliam's laughing fit carried on for some time. When at last Fitzwilliam swiped tears of mirth from his own eyes and the sounds of uproarious amusement had faded to an occasional snort, Darcy spoke again, "Are you quite finished?"

"For the moment, perhaps," Fitzwilliam allowed. He sat up straighter, becoming serious. "But Darce! Aside from what sounds like a moment of epic stupidity, you have explained almost nothing of this tale! Did you meet this Miss Bennet and then literally fire her on the spot?"

"More or less."

"But why? Had Bingley said something about her that made you think she was not fit for the job? And if she was not fit for the task of being your secretary, why was she hired in the first place?"

Darcy shifted uncomfortably. This was going to be a typical Fitzwilliam inquisition. "Mrs. Reynolds had handled the interviewing process. I trusted her to choose a likely candidate. And no, Mr. Bingley had not met Miss Marchrend at the time I met Miss Bennet. Though I believe the two meetings happened very close together."

Fitzwilliam's gaze grew sharply calculating. "But then it has been some months in the past that this firing occurred. Why grow despondent now?" Without giving Darcy a chance to answer, he thrust one finger dramatically into the air and exclaimed, "I have it!

"You have been forced to spend time with Miss Bennet due to pressure from Mr. Bingley. He's always after you to get to know the families of any woman he falls for for longer than a few days. It would surely be no different with this Miss Marchrend.

"So, with all this forced interaction, you have grown to know and esteem Miss Bennet, but she still hates you although you have doubtless attempted to show her that you're not always a hopeless idiot when it comes to dealing with other people."

Fitzwilliam sat back, triumphant at his deductions which were, on the whole, more or less accurate.

"Close enough," Darcy acknowledged. In an attempt to forestall any further questions, he then volunteered a bit more information. "And I had recently thought that I had begun to change Miss Bennet's opinion of me, but now it seems that I have undone any progress and I have no hope of ever recovering the barest inch of ground with her."

Fitzwilliam seemed to ponder that for a long moment and Darcy dared for a moment to believe that his cousin would be satisfied with the bare sketch of events that he had been given.

Unfortunately, Richard Fitzwilliam was nothing if not tenacious.

"Let us go back to the beginning now, for I do not understand why you saw fit to fire Miss Bennet in the first place. And if I know you, you have never adequately explained it to _her_ either."

Darcy hesitated. There was nothing to say here that would not push the conversation into dangerous territory. Feeling backed into a corner, he attempted a bluff. "I don't see that I need to explain the reasoning behind my actions to you. Nor do I see that the reasoning is all that relevant to the outcome. Whatever my reasons were, they seemed sound to me and I cannot undo it in any event, nor would I wish to."

The Colonel's blue eyes were filled with puzzlement as he gazed back across the short distance to regard Darcy. "But of course the reasons matter! Perhaps not to me and perhaps not, as you say, to the overall outcome. But they must have mattered to Miss Bennet! I was correct, was I not? She asked for an explanation and you hid behind your haughty 'I-know-best' attitude and told her nothing."

He paused and shook his head when Darcy made no reply. "Just as I thought. It is no wonder she doesn't like you, Man! I may not know all there is to know about women, but even I know that they value honesty. How could they trust a man who won't be transparent with them? Especially with matters that regard them directly."

Fitzwilliam's tone was chiding and just a little bit condescending. It was enough for Darcy who, feeling his pride stung, blurted out, "It does not matter! I told her the truth of my reasons and it was _that _which finally drove her away from me once and for all!"

Fitzwilliam blinked in reply, absorbing that. At length, he shook his head again, stood and stretched and then moved to the sideboard to refill his glass. When he had finished, he returned to his chair and resumed his seat.

"You must have had one hell of a terrible reason then," he observed mildly.

"It was not. She did not believe me."

"What was it?"

"I see no reason to tell you."

Fitzwilliam shrugged. "I'm a third party who loves you enough to be on your side and who loves you enough to tell you when you're at fault." He flashed a brief, blinding smile. "I'm the best friend you've got."

All of that was true; annoying as Fitzwilliam could be, he never caused Darcy any real ill.

"You won't believe me," Darcy replied tiredly, feeling the pull once again to confide in his cousin.

"I promise that I will," Fitzwilliam swore solemnly.

Darcy could feel himself teetering on the edge of a precipice. It would be so easy to fling himself over the brink, trusting that he would somehow land safely. It would be just as easy to throw himself in the opposite direction, back towards the known safety of the solid ground where he had been living. It was only the edge that was unbearable, that crumbling space between two wildly different sorts of existence.

He had thought it worthwhile to fling himself over the edge for Elizabeth's sake. Could he now justify the same precipitate action for what felt like the sake of his own sanity?

"Do you recall the night I came and asked you for your help in going after Wickham?" Darcy asked, the words coming almost without his willing them. _Off the edge of the cliff, then._

Fitzwilliam's face darkened in remembered anger. "Of course I do."

"Did you never stop to wonder how I knew what was about to happen if we had not made it in time?"

A pause. "No. I had not. I suppose I assumed Georgie had left a note and you discovered it earlier than she had intended. Or a servant had said something. Why?"

"Because, I only knew due to a phenomenon that I think you will not believe." Darcy hesitated, feeling the emptiness of open air whistling below him. "For my whole life, I have often Seen events before they have happened. I see visions of what may happen if certain steps are taken. I cannot control it, I never asked for it, but nevertheless, I have it."

Darcy watched his cousin closely as he spoke this time, searching for that moment when doubt or surprise or disbelief should show up clearly on Fitzwilliam's face. It would be a lie to say that there was not even a flicker of skepticism, but it seemed to be only a brief flash, there and gone so quickly that Darcy was not even certain he had seen anything at all.

But the moment dragged on into a silence more awkward than profound and the discomfort of it was enough to goad Darcy into speech once more.

"Say it," he commanded flatly. "Say you do not believe me and that you'll take the necessary steps to have me committed somewhere for my mental health. That Georgiana will be taken care of and that you hope I will no longer suffer these delusions."

"Why?" Fitzwilliam demanded. "Did you have some vision telling you that I would say any of those things?" He sounded almost hurt. "I said I would believe you, Darcy. And I do. It seems... extraordinary. And I suppose you haven't got any way of proving it if I were to demand such a thing of you.

"But I promised I would believe you," he repeated firmly, "and I do. In fact, I can think of any number of decisions you have made that have seemed to be either inspired or insane. If you say you've had this source of inspiration for your whole life, then I'll trust that's what it was."

Unexpected tears blurred Darcy's vision and a sob actually rose in his throat before he knew he had even begun to feel the emotional release of relief at his cousin's acceptance of his words as truth.

Burying his face in his hands, he wept until he could at last master himself again. With unwonted sensitivity, Fitzwilliam remained quiet and still, allowing Darcy to work through the moment in his own way and without having to bear up under any judgment.

When he had at last regained control and wiped away whatever evidence he could of the emotional outburst, Darcy locked his gaze with the Colonel's. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "I had no idea how it would feel to have someone believe me nor how freeing it would be to tell anyone about it and be believed." He shook his head, groping for words. "It has been a lifetime of keeping that part of me a secret from everyone. I did not know it was such a burden until recently."

"Of course," Fitzwilliam said gruffly. "Just do me a favor and let me know if you ever get any idea that I'm going to end up getting into major trouble. Like getting shot. Or married." He gave a theatrical shudder.

The joking words broke the tension of the room and even wrung a genuine smile out of Darcy. Never one to let a thing rest, Fitzwilliam leaned forward again and met Darcy's gaze. "Now then. Tell me everything about this Miss Bennet."

Beginning with his vision of their life together, Darcy told his cousin and friend absolutely everything, sparing neither himself nor Elizabeth in the telling. It took the better part of two hours and a few more glasses of liquor before the whole tale was laid out.

At the conclusion, Fitzwilliam let out a low whistle. "No wonder you're such a mess," he observed.

"Thank you ever so much for that insight," Darcy replied sarcastically. "But you see my problem. I tried to tell her and she wouldn't listen at all. What else can I do? Try to tell her again? She would eventually have me locked up either for harassment or lunacy."

"Well, can't you somehow just prove it to her?" Fitzwilliam asked, scratching at a spot behind his ear. "I mean, next time you have a vision, just tell her what it was and then when it happens, she'll have to believe you."

"I'm certain she would find reasons to doubt me even then," Darcy replied morosely. "After all, my visions are typically things to do with profitable investments. It's impossible to prove that putting some of my money in a certain market isn't just a lucky guess or good acumen."

"And you have no control over it?"

"If I did, do you think I would be so miserable right now?"

"Fair point."

Silence settled over the pair of men for a while longer before Fitzwilliam slapped his hands lightly against his thighs and stood, saying, "I suppose I'll have to think on this issue a while longer then because I'm afraid I don't see a way out of it.

"But you say you've never had a false vision?"

"Never," Darcy shrugged. "Though there have been times when I haven't been certain that I had a vision or not."

"Well then, either you _really are_ meant to be with Miss Bennet and somehow it will all work out if only you're patient and on the lookout for possibilities to mend things with her. Or it wasn't meant to be at all," he spoke bracingly. "And you didn't have a vision so much as you had a pleasant daydream. Either way, you'll eventually get through this."

"Remind me never to ask you for advice," Darcy commented, standing up himself.

Fitzwilliam only laughed, pulled Darcy into a rough embrace and pounded his back enthusiastically. "Mind if I stay over? I'm knackered."

"You know you always have a room here."

They parted then for the night. Despite his words to Fitzwilliam, Darcy found he did feel better for the perspective the other man had offered. When he tumbled gratefully into bed, it was to get the best night's sleep he'd had in quite some time.

* * *

**A/N:** We're in the home stretch now! The million dollar question is whether I can wrap it up this calendar year like I swore to myself that I would. Stay tuned!


	27. Chapter 27

It was mid-spring and Elizabeth was once again caught in the midst of her own personal idea of Hell. Doing her best to block her stepmother and half sister's nonsensical conversation from actually sinking into her consciousness with any meaning, Elizabeth immersed herself in the task of putting the final touches on the meal that was the reason she was once again at her parents' house.

Jane, although she had been expected at this family dinner, was not present to lend any relief by way of meaningful conversation or assistance with the meal, and so it had fallen to Elizabeth alone to prepare the lavish dinner that Mrs. Bennet had decreed necessary for the occasion but which she would not actually deign to cook herself. Lydia was ostensibly helping, but had only half-completed the few tasks Elizabeth had assigned to her and was instead pestering her mother.

The general thrust of the conversation that Elizabeth was endeavoring to ignore seemed to be Mrs. Bennet's agreement with Lydia that Lydia's confinement to the house for the period of a month was far too severe a punishment for the flighty girl to endure but that, for a wonder and a change, Mr. Bennet was proving to be immune to any amount of cajoling, wheedling, begging and shrieking.

Although she had managed to be absent from her parents' home for over a month and thus had no idea what infraction Lydia was being punished for, Elizabeth mentally applauded her father for at last putting his foot down where his youngest daughter was concerned. Aside from conjecturing that whatever had grounded Lydia for a month was probably really awful enough to have warranted at least two months, she was content not to get involved with this latest bout of dramatics.

Indeed, she was always content not to be directly involved with her family's affairs. Elizabeth thought again of how much she would rather be anywhere than here. She would even rather be with Jane, who had been excused from the family meal on the grounds that she was spending the evening with Mr. Bingley's family. The pair had finally become engaged only a few weeks before and, as a result, no one could really protest Jane's spending an increasing amount of time with her intended and his family.

_I wonder who is really worse_, Elizabeth mused to herself, a half smile on her lips. _Caroline Bingley or Lydia Bennet? But at least I am in no danger of running into Mr. Darcy here._

The thought was a painful one and she attempted to push it away, having grown quite adept at pretending to herself that the majority of the past year hadn't ever really happened.

Ever since their abortive attempt at a date some months past, Elizabeth had not seen even a glimpse of Mr. Darcy. Her last memory of him was how he had looked as he had stood outside the restaurant, allowing Fitch to drive her home without Darcy's sharing the vehicle. As she so often did, Elizabeth found herself wondering whether she ought to have stayed long enough to hear the end of whatever he had been about to say.

But no. The whole story he had started to tell her had been so preposterous. She was right to gain some distance from the man, for he was a danger indeed, always confusing her with what his true character might be. It was easier - and not only easy; it was _better_ - to believe that he was either insane or a liar. No matter which was the truth of his character, Elizabeth would be better off without a man that had either quality.

Shaking off the thoughts with a more conscious effort, Elizabeth pasted on a smile that felt entirely false and turned to her stepmother and half sister. "Lydia, do you go run and fetch Papa. Dinner is ready. I will finish setting the table."

Lydia huffed and made a face, but rose without further complaint to do as she was bid. Mrs. Bennet, who had been sitting at the kitchen table, rose and moved down two chairs to take the seat that was normally hers at mealtimes.

Left without her youngest daughter to commiserate with, Mrs. Bennet quickly turned her attentions to Elizabeth.

"Is it not a splendid thing that Jane and her Mr. Bingley are so soon to be wed! I daresay I am almost entirely beside myself with happiness for my Jane. I knew she could not be so beautiful for nothing! And to think she will live in that fine house and need not spend her time teaching things like arithmetic and letters to whatever little brats end up in her district! Nor will she need to spend all her free time scribbling away like she did before."

Elizabeth bristled at the casual way that Mrs. Bennet dismissed Jane's passion for writing, but held her tongue. If even Jane had not seen fit to enlighten her mother about her current aims to have her first novel published under her own name, Elizabeth was certainly not going to betray the secret.

"No," Mrs. Bennet uttered a dreamy sigh. "She may now spend all her time as I have for the past years, taking care of the needs of a home and husband. What lovely children my Jane will have, do you not think? Of course. How they could not be, with such a fair beauty for their mother?

"But what will become of you Lizzie? You cannot afford that dreadful flat on your own. You must return home at once, of course. There are some things that will need to be moved out of your old room, but what of that? You scarcely noticed them when you were convalescing here, I daresay. Returning will be your only option, I should think."

"Not at all," Elizabeth countered, finally finding a small opening and seizing on it. "I have already found a new roommate. My friend from work, Charlotte, will be moving in a week or two after Jane is married."

"Oh," Mrs. Bennet was flustered by the information, although Elizabeth had mentioned it at least once before. "But that simply will not do!" she objected. 'Two young women living alone! What will your father think?"

"Her father will think that this has been the state of affairs for some time already," Mr. Bennet answered, walking into the room at that moment and giving Elizabeth an affectionate smile. "And will think she is wise for wanting to remain where she is when it is known to be so much more convenient for her getting to work safely."

"I hope I never have to get a job," Lydia stated, having following in her father's wake. She plopped into her chair as though exhausted. "I cannot imagine how tedious it must always be to be working."

"No," Elizabeth replied, carrying over the last of the dishes of food and stepping back to ensure the table didn't lack for anything. "I daresay you couldn't."

The remark, pointed as it was, was entirely lost on Lydia.

"Well it does seem a vastly unpleasant thing," the younger girl pursued. "To give so many hours of your week that you might be doing pleasanter things with pleasanter people. Not to mention that it seems if you do find a nice, handsome fellow at work, they are always being let go for reasons I do not understand."

Elizabeth looked up sharply from the dish of green beans she had been about to pass. "What are you speaking of, Lyddie?"

"George Wickham, of course."

Frowning, Elizabeth searched her memory and couldn't immediately recall having told anyone other than Jane of George Wickham's recent dismissal from Blue Line.

"_All Charlotte knows is that her office was notified that he was not to even be allowed into the building," Elizabeth had related to her older sister. "Someone from Mr. Darcy's main offices brought word. Blue Line was not even given a reason for any of it, other than that the owner had fired George personally!_

"_I know George wasn't always the most punctual or dedicated employee, but for Mr. Darcy to fire him... Well. I do not know exactly what their history is, but I do know Mr. Darcy loathes George and has fired him once before. From everything I can piece together, this is no more than some sort of personal vendetta." _

"_Are you certain that is the case?" Jane had asked, her kind heart troubled by the information. "Why would Mr. Darcy fire Mr. Wickham _now_? From all you have said, he has known for some time that Mr. Wickham worked at Blue Line. If he meant to fire Mr. Wickham out of personal dislike, he might have done so months ago. No. There _must _be another reason." _

_Elizabeth had laughed, though she was troubled by the loss of her only other real friend from her shift. "Trust you to try to see the best in everything," she had teased Jane. But though the subject had been dropped, Elizabeth could not help but wonder what _had_ precipitated George's getting fired. _

"And what do you know about that?" Elizabeth questioned Lydia, returning to the present. "Did Jane say something to you?"

"Jane? How should _she_ know anything?" Lydia demanded. "She wasn't there!"

Elizabeth was baffled. "Wasn't _where?_"

"I think," Mrs. Bennet cut in, "that we should all find something a good deal pleasanter to speak of. Have you found a dress for Jane's wedding yet, Lizzie? We have already found one or two that will suit for Lyddie if she really only meant to be a guest. I cannot think why Jane has only asked for you to stand up with her when Lydia is her sister as well, but I suppose it is something to do with Mr. Bingley not having any brothers and needing to rely on that friend of his."

Lydia wrinkled her nose. "Well, I am pleased that it is not I who has to stand up with that horrid Mr. Darcy. Better that you should have to do so, Lizzie. He seems to think a great deal of you."

As usual, Elizabeth found herself wondering what her younger half sister could mean but quickly decided that Mr. Darcy's coming to visit when she had been recovering from her head injury had been sufficient to make such an impression in the younger girl's mind.

"Don't speak so rudely of other people," Elizabeth corrected automatically. "And please, do not remind me that he shall be there."

Mrs. Bennet paused mid-chew to frown over at Elizabeth. "I was under the impression that Mr. Darcy was a particular friend of yours."

"No," Elizabeth replied lightly. "We have not spoken in several months."

Lydia piped up again, seeming entirely offhand. "I'm sure you're better off for it. He is dreadfully cold."

Once again, Elizabeth found herself looking sharply at Lydia, wondering where the young woman had come by any of the opinions or information she had disclosed throughout the short conversation.

"For my part, I like him," Mr. Bennet put in unexpectedly, causing his elder daughter to transfer her stare to his face. "He seemed steady and thoughtful, two qualities I so rarely have the pleasure of encountering under my own roof."

"I do not have the pleasure of understanding how you have _all_ come to know Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth burst out, wholly bewildered by the strange conversation her family seemed to be conspiring to carry out in front of her. "When was he here, Papa? And for what possible reason could he have come?"

Mr. Bennet looked appraisingly at Elizabeth before he nodded in Lydia's direction. "Perhaps you had better ask your sister since it was her complete lack of common sense that caused the event to transpire."

* * *

Much later that same night, Elizabeth sank into her bed in a haze of utter mental exhaustion. This was a common enough state of affairs after being forced to spend time in company with Mrs. Bennet and Lydia, but the events of the night had been such that the effect had been magnified several times over.

Lydia had told her story readily enough, if not very coherently, with many asides about the general unfairness of life, the unreasonableness of her elders and the pity everyone should feel for her since her amusements had been cut so thoroughly and cruelly short by the actions of one Mr. Darcy.

The eventual picture that had emerged had been a shocking one, and ever since Elizabeth had comprehended the whole tale, she had felt the pressure of a growing headache as she struggled to assimilate this new information with what she thought she had known previously.

Lydia had, it seemed, formed a casual friendship with George Wickham upon the first occasion of his having visited the Bennet household. She had, after all, been the one to admit Mr. Darcy into the house and had not returned to the parlour before Mr. Wickham had made his exit. Lydia had detained Wickham for some time while everyone else had been engaged within and had flirted with the good-looking man who was quite a few years her senior.

He had seemed receptive and perhaps a little amused, and they had conversed for some time about how her sister knew Mr. Darcy and whether or not this was the first time that man had come to visit. He had told her without her asking or particularly caring, that he and Mr. Darcy had once been friends but that Darcy had turned out to be very boring and rather disagreeable.

They had planned to meet again and had carried out several secret assignations over the past several months. But this latest time had been different, for it seemed that their original plans had been interfered with by the weather. They had, it transpired, agreed to meet for the evening, planning on a casual meal and then a walk along the riverfront pathway. Lydia had spoken artlessly regarding their intentions, sighing over how romantic it would have been to walk out under the stars in such a beautiful setting.

Not that there would have been stars, for the evening, having started out rather overcast, soon developed into something of a tempestuous spring rain. Their plans for a walk thus foiled, they had made their way to the nearest shelter they could find.

The next part of the tale had emerged but slowly, Lydia admitting that George Wickham had taken her to a hotel and procured them a room. She only shrugged in an insouciant manner when an appalled Elizabeth had demanded whether she had stopped for even a fraction of a second to think about how inappropriate such a location was for a grown man and a young woman who was still practically a child to be alone together.

"I scarcely got to go in the room, let alone be alone in it!" Lydia had exclaimed indignantly. "For when we reached the room - imagine our shock! - that dreadful Mr. Darcy was waiting_ inside_. They started to argue at once. About me, I think, though I cannot fathom Mr. Darcy's interest in my doings. There were some other men there, as well, and I am glad for it since they stopped Mr. Darcy from hitting my George more than once.

"I do not know where they took him, but that terrible Mr. Darcy made me come here and tell everything to Mama and Papa and now I am grounded forever, or so it seems, and it is all his fault!"

Feeling a fresh pang of the sickness she had felt on hearing the words, Elizabeth turned restlessly in bed, willing her mind to stop going over and over everything that had followed. None of it had been very satisfactory. Mrs. Bennet only continued to indulge Lydia's complaints about her punishment, neither of them seeming to grasp the very real danger that Lydia had placed herself in, nor how grateful either of them should be for Mr. Darcy's interference in the matter.

Her father was more sensible of the situation, of course, but seemed to have no better plan for managing his youngest daughter than to keep her grounded for a month or two and to hope when she was allowed to socialize again that she would not run completely wild.

"Mr. Darcy informed me he would see to that blackguard Mr. Wickham being taken care of. I believe he intended to see him jailed for his criminal intent." He shrugged lightly, as though the safety of his youngest child was only a trivial topic. "I have not yet heard any news of the resolution of the matter, although Mr. Darcy assured me he would send word when he had any."

Such a drama in the family was upsetting enough, but of course there was more than even that for Elizabeth to try to come to terms with. She had managed to keep her thoughts strictly on the matter as it pertained to the Bennets while she had been with her family, not allowing the full ramifications to be thought about until she would have some privacy to consider everything.

Sitting up in bed, Elizabeth turned on her bedside lamp, blinking against the brightness of the light for a few moments. A quick rummage through her room produced a notebook and a pencil, both of which she brought with her back to her bed where she again sat.

**Facts:**

She headed the top of the page, feeling almost feverish to get all her thoughts down on the page where she could see them.

1. Darcy claimed that he could sometimes see the future

2. Darcy claims that Wickham is reprehensible

2a. Darcy seems to be correct in that assessment

3. Lydia made it seem as though her plan with Wickham on the night Darcy intervened was fluid. There could _not_ have been any way for Darcy to know of it in advance if they did not themselves

3a. But he was waiting right where he needed to be and at exactly the right time to save Lydia

4. If Wickham was fired by Darcy again, it was because of _all this_

5. I have judged him too harshly

Throwing down the pencil and notebook at this conclusion, Elizabeth buried her face in her hands and wept.

* * *

If time had seemed to be me moving slowly over the course of the long months of winter giving gradually way to spring, it was nothing to the snail's pace that marked the progression from spring until summer.

When Elizabeth noted the anniversary of the day that Darcy had fired her, she did so with a bleak sadness that she would never have expected, rather than with the comforting fires of a righteous fury that she would have previously anticipated.

She had been so wrong about everything and had stubbornly refused to listen to any opinion or explanation that had differed from her own. Miserable with the knowledge, but feeling it only justified that she _should_ be miserable, Elizabeth found herself wondering whether Darcy had foreseen something of how unfairly she would someday treat him and whether that had been the reason for his seemingly precipitous action in terminating her employment.

But if that were so, then why had he bothered trying to show himself to her at all? Why demonstrate enough liking for her as a person for him to want to take her out, treat her like a lady and reveal to her a secret that he said he had never revealed to anyone else?

The bitterness of knowing that he had offered her a gift of intimacy only for her to have instantly and viciously thrown it back in his face made her feel heartily ashamed.

She knew she ought to swallow her feelings and find some way to thank him for what he had done for Lydia. Though the younger girl was often a trial, Elizabeth honestly loved her and the very thought of George Wickham having been permitted to do anything that would have harmed even a hair on Lydia's head was not to be borne.

But days passed and then weeks and, in time, it was more than a month since Elizabeth had learned the truth of what kind of man Mr. Darcy was and still she could not put aside her shame or embarrassment to seek him out. That thanking him for his service and apologizing for her own actions and words would only heap more shame upon her didn't signify. She had no reason to believe he would see her at all and still less reason to imagine that her thanks would be at all welcome.

If he had saved Lydia for Elizabeth's sake at all, surely he would have wanted her to know of it. Surely he could have found her and told her of his precognition, thus proving the truth of what he had said about his abilities. But he had not done so and that, more than anything, convinced Elizabeth that Darcy had saved Lydia only because it was the right and decent thing to do. He did not require Elizabeth's gratitude or her belief in him.

Still, as Jane and Charles Bingley's wedding date grew ever closer, Elizabeth could not stop her heart from foolishly hoping that they would eventually be thrown together in some fashion. It was not unreasonable to think that it might occur since she was Jane's maid of honor and he was Mr. Bingley's best man. But Darcy must have been working assiduously to prevent their meeting, for it was not until the rehearsal that Elizabeth saw him at all, and even then he took some pains to keep his distance from her as much as he could reasonably do so without appearing to be rude.

Given that he had to escort her back down the aisle on two separate rehearsals of the ceremony, his avoidance was really quite remarkable. He might have been escorting a piece of furniture for all the acknowledgement he gave her when she settled her arm through his.

Determined as she was not to ruin anything about Jane's special day nor to make herself appear still more foolish in Darcy's eyes, Elizabeth did not comment or give any outward sign of the turmoil her heart was experiencing. Instead, she smiled, she kept a respectful distance from Darcy when the ceremony did not call for them to be in contact and she said no more to him throughout the whole evening that what polite social niceties dictated, merely greeting him when they met, thanking him when he rendered her the service of saving her from a fall and bidding him a good night when he left the dinner.

And that night she cried herself to sleep, more than half afraid that the next day would be her last to ever see him or touch him or talk to him. If this was punishment for her own prejudice against Darcy, it was bitter indeed.

* * *

**A/N:** Welp, this ended up a bit shorter than I had thought it would, but whatever. I'm glossing over the misery of months spent in exile from each other. Next chapter should be bring some resolution! Huzzah!

Have you ever had to spend months away from your loved one? I did, but that was due to it being a long-distance relationship from the moment we met until we finally married. I knew** all** about misery back then, let me tell you!

Thanks, as always, for reading. Extra thanks to those who review. I'm know I'm rubbish at replying, but isn't it worth it for three chapters in only a few weeks?

-Imp


	28. Chapter 28

The day of the wedding dawned as fair and beautiful as the bride herself was widely renowned to be. Elizabeth found that she was not easily able to take any pleasure in either the fine weather or the idea that her beloved elder sister was about to take a new name and begin a new life. They had never shared a last name, but somehow the fact that Jane would now be Jane Bingley was more bitter than sweet.

It was possible that the restless and emotional night before was casting a shadow over Elizabeth's mood, but if she was gloomy, she was also resolved. The thought that this might be her last chance to make any kind of amends with Darcy had at last pushed her into making a decision that she would speak to him today, no matter how he might feel about it. She owed both of them that much.

With a tremendous effort of will, Elizabeth at last forced herself out of bed and began her preparations for the day. She would take an hour or so to focus on her own needs this morning and would then dedicate the rest of the day to Jane. The wedding wasn't scheduled to begin until the evening hours, but there was much to be done beforehand.

Somehow, the whole day contrived to both race past at breakneck speed and to drag on interminably. It all depended on Elizabeth's perspective, she realized. If she were fully engaged in preparations for the wedding, there were not enough hours to complete every task that needed her attention. But if she thought of Darcy and what she planned on saying to him, or if she imagined how their conversation might go, then the day was endlessly unbearable and every minute chafed.

As much as possible, for her own sanity no less than out of love for her sister, Elizabeth did her best to focus on Jane's needs and to keep her calm as both excitement and nervous anticipation mounted. A large part of that chore involved keeping Mrs. Bennet occupied with anything that might reasonably keep her out of the way but was still important enough that even their mother would see the need for it to be done.

And so, in fits and starts and with many raw nerves needing to be soothed along the way, they at last got to the final moments before Jane was to walk down the aisle and pledge her life and love to Charles Bingley.

"Are you ready?" Elizabeth asked, holding both of Jane's cold hands in her own.

Jane's answering smile was dazzling, betraying not the slightest hint of nerves or uncertainty. "Yes. Oh, Lizzie! Thank you for everything you've done today. You're truly the best sister."

Elizabeth laughed off the words. "You must know that everything I did was because I'm your maid of honor! Being your sister has nothing whatsoever to do with it."

Jane was still laughing softly when the door opened a moment later and Mrs. Bennet fluttered back in.

"Oh," she cried in excitement, waving her arms in tiny circles just below her chin. "How well you look, Jane! Are you ready? It is nearly time to start and your father is on his way to come and escort you down the aisle now! Lizzie! What is going on with your face? Didn't you think that you should wear a better lipstick for something as important as your sister's wedding? Nevermind; it is too late! And just as well. No one should make an attempt to outshine the bride on her wedding day."

The whole speech was spoken almost without pause for breath and might have continued had not Mr. Bennet arrived on the scene and touched his wife gently on the arm to get her attention.

"There is a young man waiting to escort you down to your seat," he informed her. "Then we will be ready to start the processional."

Mrs. Bennet exclaimed a bit more, began to leave, screeched again, returned to drop exaggerated kisses on the air several inches from Jane's cheeks so as to not smudge anything and then at last went on her way, her eyes already suspiciously moist.

"Well, my dear," Mr. Bennet said once Mrs. Bennet was finally out of their hearing, "I must say that you do look lovely. And although you have been out of the house for some time, it feels almost as though I am somehow losing you today." He stepped forward and rested his hands gently on Jane's bare upper arms. "Promise me that you'll visit often."

Jane's smile had gone a bit wobbly in the face of what was, for Mr. Bennet, an emotional display but she nodded at once. "Of course. Charles and I both will."

Mr. Bennet nodded sharply in acknowledgement and then crooked his elbow towards his stepdaughter. "Shall we?"

Then there was a last minute scramble to retrieve the bouquets of pale pink and white calla lilies before they all at last left the small room where Jane and Elizabeth had been confined for the past hour or more.

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth waited for the music to begin and then preceeded Jane and their father down the aisle, her eyes hopelessly locked not on the groom waiting by the altar, but on the best man. Darcy was more striking than she had ever seen him, his tuxedo immaculately fitted to his tall, broad-shouldered frame. With his dark hair and eyes, the only relief of color amid the severity of all the black and white was the royal blue bowtie and matching cummerbund he wore.

Elizabeth was at the end of the aisle almost before she knew it and she took her place somewhat shakily, thinking that she hadn't remembered to either blink or breathe in the time it had taken to reach her station opposite Mr. Darcy.

In the next moment, the music changed and the rustle of clothing sounded as everyone stood at once to honor Jane as she came through the door on Mr. Bennet's arm to begin her own walk down the aisle. There was an appreciative murmur from the gathered guests at the sight of her, radiant in her gown and smiling with such joy that it almost hurt Elizabeth's heart to see it.

As the ceremony began, Elizabeth tried to pay attention to the bridal couple and the sacred words of the marriage covenant that were being spoken. But time and again, she found her eyes straying to the tall figure of Darcy and she could not help but wonder whether, if she had believed him, whether this occasion might have only been a prelude to what she could have shared with him.

* * *

It had not been without its difficulties, but Darcy had made it through the rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner and all the aimless milling about in between without making a fool of himself in front of Elizabeth Bennet.

All the months spent apart had not eased his heartache much, and it was self-preservation as much as anything else that had led him to avoid her bewitching presence whenever possible. He did not think he could speak to her without throwing himself at her feet in supplication once again.

If time had done anything for Darcy, it had erased his anger, dulling it into a sort of tired resignation. How could he possibly be angry with her for thinking him a liar when he had only just begun to make a good impression on her and she did not really have any idea of who he was? She had no way of knowing something as basic about him as the fact that deceit of every sort was his abhorrence.

In anticipation of being in Elizabeth's presence once again, Darcy had resolved that he would not speak unless she should first engage him in conversation. But she must still be wary and distrustful of him, for she said no more than what was strictly necessary and made no attempt to begin any sort of real conversation with him.

It had been an exquisite sort of torture to have her standing so near, her scent filling the air around him with its heady and compelling bouquet. It was agony to touch her and to remain outwardly impassive, as though he were escorting a stranger.

But he had gotten through it and must now only get through the wedding ceremony and reception. Those hours of being near Elizabeth and held in check by his self-imposed rule of silence were a thing he dreaded.

Yet, it was still something of a shock at just how difficult they proved to be.

He saw no sign of her in the minutes leading up to the ceremony, of course. She would be sequestered with her sister, the bride, and no one would lay eyes on them until things should at last get underway. For that, he was most advantageously placed, standing at the head of the aisle and facing the door in what he hoped looked like respectful anticipation of Miss Marchrend's appearance.

But of course it was the first woman to come through the door and make her graceful way up the aisle that captivated his every thought. She was beyond stunning in a pale pink dress with her lovely mahogany hair caught up in some style that seemed elegantly complicated. Small pink flowers were threaded in with her tresses here and there, making Darcy wonder only whether or they were real and how they might smell if so.

He tried not to show any reaction, but was being buffeted by two disparate emotions. The first was something like admiration, though Darcy would be a liar if he were to deny that there wasn't some sense of desire mixed in. The second emotion was a cold sort of dismay.

His vision of Elizabeth had included something very like this moment, after all. Was it possible that he had Seen Elizabeth walking towards him not as a bride but rather as a bridesmaid and himself not the groom but serving in the capacity of groomsman? He could not remember that vision clearly enough to be certain either way, and all the evidence seemed to point to them never establishing a real relationship, let alone one that would end in marriage.

Clenching his jaw and mastering himself while all eyes were on Jane Marchrend as she came down the aisle a few moments later, Darcy found himself fixing his gaze on Charles Bingley's left shoulder while the short ceremony was performed and though he was tempted, he did not allow himself to waver.

Then came the trial of following sedately in the newly married couple's wake. Keeping his expression grave, Darcy stepped towards Elizabeth Bennet as he had practiced the evening before, offering his arm. She accepted with a warm smile, her brown eyes catching his for a painfully brief moment.

Few people were actually paying any attention to their progress, focused as everyone was on the bride and groom. Unable to contain himself, Darcy found himself leaning close to Elizabeth's delicate ear. The flowers were fake, but she still smelled divine.

"You are looking very well," he said, the compliment polite but infused with more warmth than he had really intended.

She flushed slightly and darted a glance up at him, eyes shining with some emotion he could not readily identify. But all she did was murmur a quick word of thanks and then they were past the point where it would have been appropriate for him to stop escorting her. Unwillingly, Darcy stepped slightly away and Elizabeth took the movement as her cue to remove her arm from where it had rested on his.

The next trial was the receiving line, where Darcy had to stand next to Elizabeth and greet all the guests who came through. If anything, this was worse than actually escorting Elizabeth had been, but only because he was forced to interact with so many people. The fact that the mother of the bride, Mrs. Bennet, was also included in the line only made everything that much more unbearable.

Even knowing that Mrs. Bennet was not Elizabeth's biological mother, Darcy couldn't help but marvel that somehow both she and Jane - who _was_ the natural product of Mrs. Bennet - had turned out as well as they had. Perhaps she had been a steadier influence during the sisters' formative years, but today she was everything improper, wearing a gown that verged rather too far on the side of appearing to be bridal and which suited her figure not at all. Her hair and makeup were both overdone, the former of which was piled in a ridiculous, precarious-seeming heap on the top of her head.

As if her manner of dress were not flamboyant enough, Mrs. Bennet was much the same in public as she was in her own home, which was to say that she spoke loudly, incessantly and seemed wholly unaware of what was tactful and what was not. Her most oft-repeated phrases rotated among, "Oh, how beautiful my Jane is!" "How well my Jane has done for herself, marrying such a wealthy and important man!" and " My Lydia recently had a man show some interest in her, but it all came to nothing, poor dear!"

In order to keep from strangling the woman, Darcy soon found that if he observed nearly any other person closely enough, he could almost manage to tune out Mrs. Bennet's effusions. Almost.

With the youngest Miss Bennet having been mentioned, Darcy took a moment to pinpoint her location, finding her wandering away from the receiving line, clearly in pursuit of an oblivious young man. It seemed her recent entanglement with Wickham had done nothing to curb her eager interest in the opposite gender, but if Mrs. Bennet's inane prattling was any indication, neither had Lydia been made to see the error of her ways.

Lydia Bennet was clearly the wrong person to focus on, casting the Bennet family in a poor light as she did. Hastily transferring his attention to the next person coming down the receiving line, Darcy greeted them as warmly as he could and exchanged a few banal pleasantries about how lovely the ceremony had been, and yes, the new Mrs. Bingley was as radiant as the sun. It was the dozenth such conversation he'd been forced to have and the tediousness of the exercise was beginning to grate on him.

In the next moment, he gained a temporary respite from having to make polite conversation when the line halted, delayed by Mrs. Bennet who had latched onto someone who must be a friend of the Bennet side.

Alas, the relief came only for a moment before a new irritant introduced herself to Darcy's consciousness. A pair of hands came to rest on his shoulder just a moment before Caroline Bingley's voice breathed unpleasantly close to his ear.

"I know what you are thinking," she remarked, pressing her shrunken bosom against Darcy's upper arm. "You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed!"

For once, Caroline Bingley was not very off the mark, but Darcy was conscious of Elizabeth's presence nearby and of the pained looks she kept darting at her stepmother, so he shook his head and replied, "Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

Caroline pressed herself still closer, making Darcy frown with discomfort. "And may one ask whose the eyes?"

"One _may_," Darcy allowed, but spoke no further, hoping that Miss Bingley would take the hint.

Whether or not she would have was never to be discovered, for the line at last broke free again and Darcy was able to step firmly away from Caroline to resume his duties.

When, at last, the line had all dried up and the guests had moved on to the outdoor reception area to continue mingling, Darcy found himself hanging back along with the rest of the wedding party as they all collected themselves for a moment.

Elizabeth drew Jane aside and the two women bent their heads close, speaking in tones too quiet for Darcy to make out any words. Seeing them thus engaged, Darcy drew Bingley aside a little ways.

"I have developed something of a headache over the past hour, I'm afraid," he told his friend with perfect honesty. "I believe my toast will be the last official duty for the evening? Would you be terribly put out if I left following that? I will understand if you wish me to stay."

Bingley grinned back at him, "I am honestly amazed at how well you have endured up to this point, having to meet so many strangers and pretend to care about what they think! Of course you should leave if you feel you must. I only regret that the toasts will not come for quite some time."

Darcy felt an answering smile turn his lips upward. "You are too good a friend. Perhaps I will feel recovered by that point in any case. I believe some water may very well be refreshing."

After expressing a wish that some water would indeed restore Darcy's health to him, Bingley waved him off in the direction of the white tents that covered a portion of the lawn, providing shade to the people who stood or sat at tables beneath them.

Resigning himself to another few hours of making small talk over dinner and drinks, Darcy headed off without a backward glance.

* * *

The water didn't help, not that Darcy had really expected that it would. The headache was not from too much heat or sun, but rather from the tension of the day.

Unfortunately, it was some time before the toast was to take place. There was first some time for the guests to mingle with each other and to begin to drink if they were of the mind to do so. When everyone was called to order, it was to sit down to a catered meal. As one of the bridal party, Darcy was seated at the main table, a distinction he might have done without.

Though Elizabeth sat only a few feet away from him, there was no chance of true conversation - not that she had tried to initiate any - what with all the other Bennets and Caroline Bingley also being present.

Watching Caroline Bingley attempt to deal with her brother's in-laws might have been amusing, but she seemed to think that Darcy would lend some sort of support to any disparaging comment she might think to make, and was thus always saying something breathtakingly rude before turning to him to ask, "Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?"

After the third or fourth time, Darcy had given up any pretense of polite forbearance with the infernal woman and had instead adopted his most severe look and flatly disagreed with whatever nonsense she had just spouted. It did nothing to deter her.

If Miss Bingley was bad, both Lydia Bennet and her mother were in close competition with her. The youngest Miss Bennet alternated whining about how bored she was and how much she wanted to get on with things so that she might dance. Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, seemed to say whatever popped into her head.

Darcy's headache, already bad, only grew steadily worse during the course of the meal.

At length, the dinner was coming to an end and the time for toasting came. Champagne was handed out among the crowd and Darcy, who had been notified to get in place just a few moments before, waited until everyone was served and all had turned expectantly to where he stood.

Opening his mouth to speak, he saw Elizabeth headed in his direction and so paused a moment longer to give her a chance to join him. She would be speaking directly following his toast and then there would be dancing until the newly wedded couple made their own exit.

Having prepared and memorized a short speech, Darcy stepped forward and spoke in a carrying voice, addressing the attentive crowd but pretending to himself that this was only another business presentation. It made the task easier, although his words about love and caring would have been perfectly incongruous in the setting he imagined.

In only a few minutes, his part was over and the guests all sipped at their champagne at Darcy's own signal of doing the same. Then he faded gratefully into the background as everyone turned their attention from him to the bride and groom and then onto Elizabeth who had stepped into Darcy's spot.

"Jane is my sister and my best friend," Elizabeth began, smiling dazzlingly at the woman in question. The bride's answering smile was no less brilliant and tears already seemed to shine in her eyes. "So I have been in an excellent position to witness the relationship between Jane and Charles as it has evolved, and let me tell you, it has been an inspiration to me."

There were some appreciative sounds from the audience as Elizabeth paused, and even Darcy found himself smiling despite the bittersweet tenor of his thoughts.

"One thing that I observed that has really stood out to me was how the biggest turning points in their relationship came out of moments of honesty."

Recalling how Bingley had gone to Jane and laid his heart out on the line and had apologized unreservedly for his poor treatment of her, Darcy felt a momentary stab of envy. His own moment of absolute honesty had been rather less successful in both execution and outcome. Wondering if he could slip away with all eyes on Elizabeth, he shifted slightly, taking a half step to the side.

Elizabeth was still talking, still looking fixedly at her sister and new brother-in-law.

"I believe a good marriage is based on a trust where each party can be totally honest with each other. I also believe that honesty comes with a price."

Having been about to take another half step away, Darcy froze suddenly, his attention fixed back on Elizabeth's words.

"In order to have a good marriage you also have to accept what the other person is honestly telling you. You can't be judgmental. You can't disbelieve.

"That's the foundation of a good marriage. To be able to be totally open with the other person and have that person accept whatever it is that you have to say. Your spouse is the one to whom you tell your dreams and desires, no matter how improbable they are. To whom you tell your darkest fears without having to also fear that they will reject you or what you are saying."

She paused again and this time there was utter stillness from the listening crowd. Elizabeth was the only one who moved, shifting to look out over the wedding guests, turning until she at last locked her eyes with Darcy's own.

"Being honest is humbling but you must not be too _proud_ to do it and must be willing to apologize when you are wrong."

She held Darcy's gaze for a beat longer, the message in her words unmistakable. Suddenly, her smile was back in full force and she broke their exchanged looks with a blink of her eyes and a swift turn to face the Bingleys once again.

"Jane and Charles already have these qualities and this level of trust and faith in each other, so I cannot help but believe that their lives together will be full of exceeding joy. I wish them both all the best. To Charles and Jane."

Raising her glass in a salute on the last, Elizabeth sipped at her champagne again. Darcy only barely remembered to follow suit, watching in a sort of stunned disbelief as Jane and Elizabeth hugged and the silent crowd broke into a low murmur of dozens of conversations amongst themselves.

Someone else might have said or done something to signal that this portion of the evening was formally over, for everyone seemed to move away at once, but Darcy could not move or look away from where Elizabeth's dark head still leaned in close to Jane's fair coloring.

Then Bingley was there, buffeting him casually in greeting. "Are you off now? I hope the rest of this evening wasn't too tedious for you."

Darcy barely glanced at the other man. "No," he said. "I am much recovered. I will stay on a while longer."

Bingley looked from Darcy to where Elizabeth stood and smiled knowingly. "Excellent! Well, I must go claim my bride as we are to begin the first dance. Please tell me you and Miss Bennet will join in for the second. Jane has informed me it's something of a tradition."

"Of course," Darcy replied, voice even but heart beginning to race. Not intending to waste even a moment, he followed on Bingley's heels as his friend went to collect Jane.

The couple was off in a moment, the first strains of music already starting up from a few yards away. Just that quickly, he and Elizabeth were practically alone.

"Miss Bennet," he addressed her formally. "May I request the honor of your hand for the second dance?"

* * *

Elizabeth accepted Darcy's request for the second dance without really knowing what she said. The past few hours had been spent in unrelieved tension as she had been caught between wondering whether or not she were brave enough to dare to approach him.

It was overhearing Charles Bingley tell her sister that Darcy intended to leave following the toasts that had decided her. As she had thought the night before, this might very well be her last chance to say anything to him and apologizing was something she must do for her own sake, even if he rejected both her contrition and her own self.

A wedding where one is a bridesmaid who must do something to try to contain the mother of the bride is not a good place to try to have a personal conversation. Elizabeth had reached that conclusion early on and found her frustration with events growing by leaps and bounds. She could not seem to break away from the demands of her family or the guests and, on the one occasion she found herself free, she could not immediately find Darcy and was soon waylaid by another person claiming her attention.

She laughed and smiled and made lively conversation but in her heart she felt only desperation.

At length, it was time to toast the bridal couple and Elizabeth knew that the only way to say anything to Darcy must likely be encoded in her speech. She could only pray that he would stay and that he would truly hear beyond the surface meaning of her words.

Affecting a confidence she did not feel, she spoke from her heart, for her speech bore no resemblance to the one she had prepared in advance. And though she feared it would be too obvious a move, she could not help meeting Darcy's grave gaze as she made as private an apology as she could in so profoundly public a manner.

Elation surged through her when she realized he had not immediately gone and she all but held her breath when she saw Bingley approach the taller man and exchange a few words. In a moment, Darcy was headed her way and seemed to waste no time in applying for a dance.

Now they stood side by side, not speaking, watching as Jane and Bingley twirled gracefully through their first dance as a married couple. A string quartet provided the music and the mood of the evening was everything romantic with warm breezes and a sky shading ever darker, the very heavens gradually revealing more and more of their shining splendor.

When the first dance had ended, the guests who were gathered to watch all applauded before the music swelled again and more couples dipped onto the dance floor.

Ensconced in Darcy's arms, Elizabeth looked up at him as they moved through the patterns of the dance. She was desperate to know what he was thinking but could not decide where to begin. Confused, she fell back into her usual refuge of teasing commentary, saying lightly, "I believe we must have _some_ conversation, Mr. Darcy. A very little will suffice. You should say something about the dance, perhaps. I might remark on the number of couples."

He looked down at her, still seeming very grave. "Do you talk by rule, then, when you are dancing?"

"Oh," she exclaimed, "I so rarely have the pleasure of dancing. I have no rules for it."

"I am not certain you have many rules for anything," he responded. "Or that you follow them very strictly should it not suit you."

Startled at the observation, Elizabeth peered up at him, only just seeing the twitching corners of his mouth. He was teasing her.

All at once, he became serious. "That was a very nice toast you gave," he observed.

"Was it?" she asked. "I confess, it was inspired in the moment."

"I think that you have made some excellent points regarding honesty in a relationship."

Elizabeth waited, but he said no more. "I believe I also made an apology, though perhaps not an excellent one. Please allow me to speak on the matter again, Mr. Darcy. I am very sorry for how I treated you that night. My disbelief was no reason to be cruel, and I cannot help but feel now how unjust I was to you then."

She forced herself to meet his eyes the whole time she gave her apology. His expression did not change and Elizabeth felt her heart sink, thinking that she was seeing the polite mask of indifference that Mr. Darcy usually seemed to wear with strangers and people for whom he did not care.

"I must also thank you," she added.

"Thank me?" Darcy seemed surprised.

"Yes. I understand that you saved my sister, Lydia, from George Wickham's depredations and that you did so under rather impossible circumstances. Please accept both my apology and my gratitude."

"I will accept one of them," Darcy replied, ceasing to dance. "But not the other."

So he would not forgive her. Elizabeth stepped away, looking down in surprise when Darcy did not immediately release her hand. To the contrary, he tightened his hold and led her off the dance floor in silence. She followed in bewilderment, but did not ask what he meant to do. They were soon far away from the crowd that was making merry, standing next to a stone wall with only the moon and starlight to see each other by.

"I do not wish for or require your gratitude," Darcy said once they had paused. He now gathered up both her hands in his own and faced her squarely. "But for the sake of honesty between us, I shall not attempt to deny that the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on."

"I do not understand you," Elizabeth burst out. "You had a most perfect opportunity to prove to me the truth of your words and you did not take it. That, I could understand. Who would not have grown indifferent or even spiteful to someone who had treated them as I have treated you? Do you mean you have accepted my apology?"

"I had forgiven you long since," Darcy told her. "Elizabeth - Miss Bennet - may we now have further honesty between us? There is more I have wanted to tell you, almost from the moment that I met you."

"I - yes, of course," Elizabeth stammered in some confusion.

"I fear you will not like what I am about to tell you," Darcy warned. "But I have wished a thousand times to explain to you the circumstances of our first meeting. You see, I had a vision as soon as I laid eyes on you."

Curiosity, already budding in Elizabeth's mind, bloomed into fullness. "Yes," she acknowledged. "I recall you told me that much some months ago."

"That vision-" Darcy cut himself off, seeming agitated. He dropped one of her hands to run his own backwards through his hair. "I have never been able to think of a good way to tell you-"

"Just tell me," Elizabeth urged softly. "Please. I promise to keep an open mind. To listen without judgment." She smiled, though it felt crooked on her lips.

Sighing heavily, Darcy seemed to calm himself with a great effort, bringing even his tone back into moderation. "I - I saw us," he said hesitantly, the words and the almost shy way in which they were uttered making Elizabeth's heart beat still faster in anticipation.

"I saw us marrying." He swallowed thickly. "Building a life together. Having children. Everything."

She could not immediately reply.

"I am aware of how that sounds." The words were spoken almost savagely. "I have no wish to have you believe that I think this vision of mine should, in any way, have the ability to force you to any such understanding. Nor would I have you think that I am merely blindly following what could be rationally seen as a delusion. My heart is engaged, Elizabeth! Whether or not you ever return the feeling, I do love you!"

Something warm and wet streaked suddenly down Elizabeth's cheek and she realized all at once that she was crying.

"I hardly know what to say," she admitted, her voice thick. "There are so many things going through my head right now and I hardly know which is most important."

"I know the feeling," Darcy acknowledged. "And I know what is most important to me, but I will not press you for any reply now. If you need some time to think about what I have said, you have it. As much as you require."

She sobbed, overcome, and pulled her hands free from his to bury her face in them.

But she still felt him move and so was not surprised or displeased when he gently gathered her into an embrace, holding her head against his chest. "Please don't cry, Elizabeth. I had no wish to hurt you," he murmured.

He had not hurt her, of course. She cried harder, clutching at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

It took some time for her to master herself again, but other than the embarrassment of having broken down in the first place, Elizabeth could not find cause to repine. Darcy held her the entire time, whispering soothing words that went almost unheard as she focused on the steady beating of his heart. The sound was oddly comforting in that moment, seeming a strong and steady pulse for Elizabeth to match her breathing to.

Finally pulling away, Elizabeth swiped carelessly at her face, giving a wobbly smile in thanks when Darcy immediately proffered a handkerchief for her to use to clean up.

_He is always seeing to the little things,_ she thought. _He is always taking care of everything. _

"I do not need any time to be able to tell you the most important thing to me, Mr. Darcy," she began, once she had ordered herself a bit.

"William," he corrected softly. "If you like."

She smiled up at him. "Is that what your friends call you?"

"Some of them."

"And what does the woman who loves you call you?"

He paused, searching her eyes.

"Whatever she wishes to call me."

"I suppose I shall have to think on that, then. But for now, I believe I will follow societal norms and call you William." She sobered, losing all trace of teasing from her tone for he was still looking at her as though he did not dare to believe that any of this was real.

"I love you, William," she said simply.

"Elizabeth," he uttered her name in a hoarse voice, but said no more. He did not need to. The look of transcendent joy on his face was clear enough, despite the lack of any true light. And then his lips spoke to her in a different way, as they gently captured hers in a tender kiss that did nothing to conceal the eager passions that he held just in check.

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth gave herself over to that kiss and to every one that followed shortly after, memorizing the scent and feel of him. And somewhere deep inside her, she could feel her own heart speed and then falter and then burst in a surge of emotions that she could never have anticipated. Knowing she could not adequately describe the feeling, she smiled against William Darcy's lips, knowing as surely as he did that they would have the rest of their lives to attempt to put words or other expressions to the feelings of their hearts.

* * *

**A/N:** I can't believe it's over. Excuse me for a moment while I sniffle quietly.

I won't be long-winded here (maybe). Just wanted to take a moment to again thank everyone who has read this and who has stuck with me for the nearly three years it took me to actually finish. And, as always, I'd like to heap extra thanks and warm fuzzy feelings on everyone who took the trouble to review. I'd love it if the silent majority of my readers would take a moment to say hey or something now that we've come to the end, but I understand if you don't want to.

There will be a short epilogue coming soon. Look for it under your virtual tree on Christmas Day!

It's been one hell of a ride. Thanks so much for sharing it with me!

xoxo

-Imp


	29. Epilogue

**A/N:** I know I said this would be up on Christmas day, and I apologize that it wasn't. However, I can safely blame the site for being down. I didn't forget! Just a note, on this. Because I am disappointing everyone who hoped for a longer epilogue with this rather short one, I am also including the alternate ending. Hopefully it will make sense the way I formatted it... I just repeated a bit of the first ending, so up until that point, the story went the same way. See you at the bottom with another note!

* * *

Darcy was nervous as he made his way to Elizabeth's flat in order to pick her up for a night of dinner and the theater. It was, he mused, more than a little odd that he should feel this way, but he could not quell the emotions that ran riot in his mind.

It had been several months since their honest exchange and unexpected declarations of mutual love and the intervening time had been nothing short of wonderful. Darcy had been able to properly woo Elizabeth and had thrown himself into his self-appointed task with a vigor that had previously been reserved for particularly exciting business ventures.

If he were being honest with himself, Darcy had to admit that his interest in making Elizabeth blissfully happy surpassed the dedication he had ever shown to anything else. The results had been both extraordinary and personally enriching.

When she opened the door to his knock, Darcy immediately felt his nerves settle somewhat just at the sight of her welcoming smile. He pulled her in for a quick kiss before asking, "Are you ready?"

"I am," she acknowledged and allowed him to hold the door for her as she exited her home.

Dinner was an interesting mix of lively and serious, as most of their conversations had the wont to be. Elizabeth could change from arch playfulness to grave severity in the blink of an eye, but Darcy found he delighted in the challenge of keeping up with her. Their spats were mostly playful these days and those that were serious were resolved as quickly as possible using the tools of communication, honesty and a spirit of compromise.

After dinner was the theater, and as this was the first time that they had engaged in both activities since their disastrous first double-date with Jane and Bingley, they reminisced about old times as they traveled from the restaurant to the playhouse, laughing the whole while.

Darcy's nerves were very near quelled by the time they took their seats and the play began. Unfortunately, the play was one he had seen before, though it was some years ago and had been put on by a different company. Still, all the differences in costuming and stage dressing could not detract from the simple fact that he already knew the story and exactly how it would turn out.

The irony that he could ignore the play on those grounds was not at all lost on him.

At length, the play ended and he led an enthusiastic Elizabeth back to the automobile, listening in delight to her observations and making what few comments he could about the general plot since he couldn't really say anything about the skill of the actors.

But she must have noticed he wasn't really attending as fully as he usually did, for she eventually grew silent. He was grateful for it and for the fact that she did nothing to project any hurt or confusion at his mild distraction. She seemed content to leave him to his thoughts and to be lost in her own.

They arrived back at her flat and he escorted her up to her door.

Pausing on the outside of the closed portal, she looked up at him, her brown eyes so soft and inviting that he could not help dropping a kiss or two or three on her conveniently upturned lips.

"Does that mean you're not coming in?" she asked, once he had drawn himself away. He had a habit of kissing her at the door if he didn't have the time to join her for a cup of tea and a bit more conversation.

"Am I invited in?"

She grinned. "Always."

"Then I'll stay for a while."

She turned to unlock the door and they walked in to find Charlotte Lucas sitting curled up in a chair, a book in hand. She was reading Jane's latest book, Darcy noted, thinking that if he were not so distracted he would engage the other woman in a discussion of how she was liking it so far.

Jane Bingley's books were compelling and he was proud of the woman he hoped to someday call his sister-in-law. That she had been behind the latest of the J.M. Richardson books had been something of a surprise, but that she had done that and was presently enjoying a good deal of success as a novelist in her own right was much less so.

"Tea or coffee?" Elizabeth inquired, pulling him from his random thoughts.

"Let me get it," he countered. "Which do you prefer tonight?"

"Some tea, I think. I'm already excited enough without adding coffee to the mix!"

"Charlotte?" Darcy asked. "Would you care for anything while I'm about it?"

"No thanks, Boss," she smiled, using the name she always did. "I was about to turn in for the night."

Thinking privately that she was not really likely to be doing any such thing but was giving him a bit of privacy with Elizabeth, Darcy returned the smile before he made his way into the kitchen and put some water on to boil. There was nothing much to do for making tea beyond that, but he lingered in the kitchen anyhow, giving Charlotte and Elizabeth a chance to talk for a few minutes without him.

When he at last reemerged, Charlotte was gone and Elizabeth was draped across a chair, sitting casually as she always did at home.

"Your tea, milady," he joked, proffering the mug that he knew she preferred.

"Why, thank you, milord."

Placing his mug on the coffee table, Darcy sat down on the floor before Elizabeth's chair and looked up at her. He meant to ask her a pointless question about whether or not she'd had a good time that evening - she clearly had - but what came out instead was a soft, "I love you."

Her answering smile was tender. "I love you, too."

He never tired of saying or hearing those words.

The moment was so intimate in this casualness that Darcy could hold back no longer. Shifting to his knees so that he was more on eye-level with her, he stroked her face softly with the back of his hand.

"Elizabeth."

Her eyes had fluttered closed in pleasure at his touch, but they opened again at his call.

"Yes?"

"I have a very important question for you."

She looked as though she wanted very much to make some impertinent reply but must have seen something in his expression that made her grow serious and still.

"What is it?"

The nerves were back in full force and no mistake.

"Will you marry me?"

Elizabeth's smile started out slowly before blooming all at once into the dazzling display that he knew meant she was truly happy. "Oh," she breathed. "Yes! Of course I'll marry you, William!"

He frowned at her. "You didn't let me finish," he chastised.

Catching his own playfulness, Elizabeth assumed a patently false expression of contrition. "I am so very sorry. Please." With a gesture, she invited him to continue.

"If you say yes," Darcy replied, all mock severity himself, "you really must be aware that I will be forced to fire you immediately."

"Oh dear," she murmured in a low voice. "A choice between the best of men and a job that is merely tolerable. How ever will I be able to choose?"

His heart soaring at her words of praise, Darcy leaned in close. "Perhaps I can help to tip the balance in my favor."

She met his kiss with a passion that threatened to consume them both. When they at last came up for air, Darcy couldn't help but get a few final words in.

"Elizabeth?"

"Hmm?"

"You really are fired."

She laughed against his mouth. "I know. I just don't think I care."

_-Fin_

* * *

**Alternate Ending:**

"Elizabeth."

Her eyes had fluttered closed in pleasure at his touch, but they opened again at his call.

"Yes?"

"I have a very important question for you."

She looked as though she wanted very much to make some impertinent reply but must have seen something in his expression that made her grow serious and still.

"What is it?"

The nerves were back in full force and no mistake.

"Will you marry me?"

Elizabeth's smile started out slowly before blooming all at once into the dazzling display that he knew meant she was truly happy. "Oh," she breathed. "Yes! Of course I'll marry you, William!"

Darcy blinked, coming out of the vision that had held him in sway. It seemed as though he had actually just been standing about in a stupid manner for more than a year, but although Mrs. Reynolds and his new secretary, Elizabeth Bennet, were both looking at him with slightly concerned expressions, neither one of them seemed to be truly alarmed.

Darcy shook his head. "Forgive me," he said automatically. "My mind seems to have wandered for a moment there. I'm very sorry to have been late on your first day, Miss Bennet."

Stepping forward, he shook her hand, feeling the thrill of it jolt through him like a physical shock.

She smiled at him. "It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy."

Knowing that he must move slowly and remain professional, Darcy nevertheless lingered for a moment longer, saying, "I hope you will find that you enjoy working here, Miss Bennet. We are pleased to have you on board."

For that, he received her true smile. Nodding at her in what felt like a somewhat foolish manner, Darcy then excused himself to his office where he sat behind his desk, musing over what had just happened.

He had never had such a long or detailed vision before and he wondered at the sheer scope of it. It was not long before it occurred to him to also wonder at how he should go about wooing and winning Elizabeth's heart. His vision had showed him how inept he might have been, left purely to his own devices, but it also made his soul soar with joy in delight at the certain knowledge he had that no matter how badly he might fail, in the end, all would come right.

Still, he must be more cautious than his vision had shown him to be. He would not, for anything, hurt his future wife.

The day was a productive one after that. Darcy looked at timelines, made strategic plans and contemplated a new acquisition. That the timelines dealt with how soon it might seem appropriate to launch his campaign for wooing Elizabeth, and that the strategic plans were for how we would go about the business of wooing and that the new acquisition he was contemplating was that of an engagement ring only made all that productivity so much more pleasurable.

* * *

**A/N:** Well. That's it! Hope you enjoyed at least one of those endings (My beta does not care for the alternate. There was a whole lot of her yelling "NO! NOT IT WAS A DREAM FAIL" and "dieeeeeeee" at me, heh.).

Anyhow. My final and sincere thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I do mean to reply to the latest batch of reviews, but have just been so busy with work and family and the holidays. Hopefully I'll find time for that within a day or two. It was lovely to hear from some new people, so thanks for that as well!

Big thanks also to my beta, despite how much you hate the alternate ending and everything it stands for. I couldn't have done this without your encouragement, wheedling and keeping me from making too many epic logic failures.

For the future, I do still have a one-shot lurking around the corners of my mind so eventually I will get that written and published here. But for the most part, I intend to be working on _Teleporter_. That plotline has changed so dramatically since I first mentioned it, that I believe no part of what I've already written will survive intact. It certainly won't do for me to post it as a JAFF in its current incarnation. All of which is to say that unless some other idea grabs me, I don't expect to be posting anything here in the near future with the possible exception of the aforementioned one-shot.

I will, of course, remain lurking about and reading anything good that other people are writing and will be available via PM if anyone finds a need to contact me.

Much, much love.

-Imp


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